


Nature and Nurture: Finding the Perfect Blend

by WaideING



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Claiming, Creature Stiles, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, First Time, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Stiles, Love Confessions, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mental Health Issues, Nemeton, Nogitsune Effects, Oblivious Stiles, Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Sweet Derek, Temporary Character Death, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Tortured Stiles Stilinski, Violence, Wolfed Out Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-01-31 19:16:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 183,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12688542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaideING/pseuds/WaideING
Summary: Set at the end of Season 5, Stiles faces some challenges which make things more difficult than he'd like them to be. This includes being in love, being abducted, and the supernatural taking a personal interest in him. If he could deal with one problem at a time, maybe he could work things out. But that isn't going to happen.





	1. The Cell

**Author's Note:**

> Please note this story delves into abduction, PTSD, torture, and resulting mental issues. All depictions of symptoms, and medical treatments are for entertainment purposes only and are not meant to emulate RW scenarios.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning is just the starting place.

Stiles shivered through another wave of pain. It came and went in pulses, never letting go. He was lying on the floor of his cell, taking low slow breaths. The pain was worse when he tensed up so he did his best to relax. 

If that isn’t somewhat of a paradox he doesn’t know what is. Action through inaction. He read about that somewhere. 

He snorted to himself, then gasped at the resulting stab of pain in his chest and throat.

He hates being taken against his will. Being tortured sucked big time, too. 

He tried to focus on more pleasant things. A positive mind-set would be beneficial right now. 

 

***

 

Stiles had been feeling good lately. 

It had become apparent that if he wasn’t running for his life, or fighting for his friend’s lives, or his dad’s, or anyone else’s, that he was quite capable of living a pretty decent life. Go figure.

Beacon Hills had been quiet for a while now. Quiet enough that life just wondered in and filled the gaps that fear had previously occupied. Stiles found he enjoyed the peace. Sure, he liked the adrenalin rush of danger, because he wasn’t completely sane apparently, but he didn’t miss the anxiety of trying not to loose anyone during their death-defying escapades.

But to recap: It was quiet. Life kept going.

As it does.

School had been going without a hitch, for the most part. Teachers were amiable towards him, other students left him alone, and he managed to get and hold onto a not-to-be-scoffed-at grade-point average. Stiles was confidently looking forward to being accepted into numerous law-related courses after graduation. His dad was rightly proud of him.

His friendship with Scott was stronger than ever, too. They’d had some really intense talks and worked out many of their issues. That wasn’t to say they’d over-shared and mentioned every quirk of each other’s that annoyed them, but rather that they were never going to let something like the Donavan fiasco break them apart again. They’d agreed that their friendship was too important. 

Stiles had also taken to doing some deep introspective in the past few months and from what he’d worked out, had set about making changes in his other relationships. 

Specifically, with the females in his life. Namely, Lydia, Malia and Kira. The girlfriends he needed, just without the sex.

Because even though sex was awesome and the best ever and he missed it, as in his hand was going to fall off from over-use, Stiles had justifiable pride in working out that he was better off being just good friends with the women in his life. 

He ignored the fact that both Lydia and, somewhat surprisingly, Malia, were more comfortable with him now. He didn’t want to dwell on how that reflected on him as a person.

His ‘females aren’t for sex’ view wasn’t because he’d come to the sudden realization that he was more interested in his own gender. He’d always had a pretty good idea about that. And if the people in his life, namely Scott and his dad, took him more seriously, they’d have worked it out too. He’d dropped enough hints. 

It also wasn’t that he’d stopped hiding who he was, though he’d never seen it as hiding because he had honestly been in love with Lydia, and cared deeply for Malia, but really, if people didn’t have to come out as straight why did people of other persuasions have to label themselves? Where was the inclusiveness in that double standard?

Anyway …

His need to fix the relationships with his women folk stemmed from a more deeper personal issue. Which he didn’t like to think too long about. Because there was nothing to be done about it.

So he didn’t. Think about it. Much.

He focussed on other things. 

Like lacrosse and his continued ineptitude, despite his winning of a game pretty much on his own, thank you, and his ability to sometimes have skill where mostly he was lacking. He wasn’t a complete sports-dud, but when he fumbled and dropped the ball for the nth time in practice, and the other team members chuckled at him, it didn’t do anything great for his self-esteem.

Especially when there were more able-bodied people running around who didn’t even need to try to be good at physical activities. Like Liam. Who’d been good before he was a wolf, but was just showing off now.

Liam, Hayden and Mason were in the pack, although Stiles was still distant with them. More with Mason and Hayden then Liam. Because if Stiles forgot his lacrosse envy, Liam was like a little adorable Scott only with anger as his first defense rather than a sad face. Stiles could see Scott in Liam, back when he’d first been bitten. It made Stiles sentimental, and he liked Liam all the more because of it. He just didn’t really show it.

Scott was fond of telling Stiles that he had trust issues. He does, that’s true. But Stiles also takes his time to make friends because he’s getting to know them. They may be bad people deep down, or not get his sense of humor. Also, Stiles is not like Scott, who is a big puppy full of eternal sunshine and roses. 

Reservations about lacrosse and pack friendships aside, it had all been going so well. If Stiles tried not to think too much about Derek, that’s just the way it was. Truthfully, his feelings towards Derek freaked him out, and Stiles was just trying to come to terms with the fact that Derek’s smile did a whole lot more for him than Lydia’s ever had. And she’d been the cause for the development of his ten year plan. 

It was probably a good thing that Derek wasn’t in Beacon Hills, that he’d left after they’d been through the horrific mess of Mexico. Stiles hadn’t even had time to pause before Braedon was pulling Derek away, and he’d gone.

Stiles just continued the way he was going. 

He actually liked going to school when no one was trying to kill him or his friends. That was a shocker to figure out. He enjoyed spending time with Scott and the others. He didn’t even mind going to therapy because he’d recently hit a mile-stone and worked through the guilt he had about Allison.

The fact that he and his dad were doing quite well was part of the reason Stiles felt good. They spoke, they hung out, they were better than they’d been since before Donovan. Knowing just how far his father was willing to bend for him caused Stiles to feel loved and shamed at the same time.  
It was a strange combination.

He’d also started to research his spark. He was doing it on his own without help. Sure, there was Deaton, who may or may not have agreed to mentor if asked, but Stiles couldn’t help but feel distrust when it came to him. Deaton had proven himself to the pack, but not to Stiles. There was something there that made Stiles feel creeped out, so Deaton was a no-go.

So far Stiles hadn’t evolved his spark beyond mountain ash circles. Apparently there was a heap of theory before the wizardry coolness of it all. But he was working on it. If it happened to involve a whole lot of failure, Stiles would never tell. No one was aware of what he was doing anyway.

Things were quiet, things were good. He felt better than he had in ages. 

 

***

 

Stiles can’t help but fixate on the afternoon he’d been taken. It makes him rage that he hadn’t been able to stop it.

He’d walked into his bedroom from a weekend afternoon with the pack to someone grabbing him from behind and pushing a needle into his leg that made him scream. It hurt so damn much and his leg stopped working almost immediately. He’d stumbled, and was pushed onto his bed. He rolled with the momentum and ended lying face up on the sheets.

There was a middle-aged man leaning over him. He had the vibe of someone who’d been hurting people for a long time. Stiles had kicked the man in the stomach with his good leg and fallen off the bed onto the floor. The man cursed him and shoved another needle into him, this time into the back of his neck as he was trying to stand. 

The resulting scream was cut off halfway as his back seized up and his throat closed off. His muscles relaxed and he’d pitched face first into the rug. 

Not being able to stop himself, it had hurt a fair bit. His eyes were watering from the pain in his nose as he was shoved over onto his back. He found he could move his arms, and one leg, but he had no strength or coordination. 

He hadn’t been able to do anything but lie there as the man flourished a third needle in his direction. 

“Want another shot?” he’d been asked.

Stiles had managed a “No,” before he’d started to wheeze. 

“The paralysis toxin is interfering with your lungs,” the man explained. 

Stiles' breathing became even more labored as he panicked. 

The man held up a hand, sneering like Stiles was being particularly dense. “You won’t suffocate. Although you would find it easier to breath if you just relaxed.”

Stiles hadn’t wanted to do anything this man told him to but he needed air, so he’d taken a slow breath and found it easier than before.

The man had watched and nodded. “Good. You can listen at least.”

“Fuck off!” Stiles had coughed out. He’d grunted as the man kicked him in the side, catching his arm in the process. 

“You’re a mouthy piece of scum, but I was already aware of that. Stop talking and concentrate on your breathing.” 

The man had squatted down and curled his lip like he was going to spit on him. Apart from the cold facial expression, he was, in Stiles’ opinion, very ordinary. He was an average size for his average height and had stubble that was reminiscent of Chris during his bad days. He’d worn faded jeans, hiking boots, and a dark blue sweater. 

The fact the man’s appearance did not say ‘fucking psycho who breaks into people’s houses and injects them with paralytics’ had pissed Stiles off. 

Okay, the impressive array of needles seemingly plucked from thin air helped his pride somewhat, but come on. He’d managed to survive the Nogitsune, Theo and the Dread Doctors, the Donavan screw-up, and Derek leaving for who-knows-where again, but he hadn’t stopped this guy from paralyzing him in his own house in his own bedroom!

“Now, don’t get your hopes up, Stiles, you’re in for a rough time. I can’t say how long it will last, but eventually I’m going to kill you.” 

Just like when he’d had the gun in his face, and believed he was about to get shot by the Chemist, Stiles had that same out-of-time sensation. It was something, to hear about his imminent death from the person who was going to do it. The fact that this man used his name didn’t pass by unnoticed, either.

The man had leant back on his heels and studied him with a practiced eye. “But I’m not going to do it here.” 

Stiles had such profound relief that his dad was not going to go through that; finding him dead in his room. 

It must have shown on his face because the man chuckled at him, “You’ll die elsewhere. I’ve got a special place I’ve set up for the likes of you.” 

Stiles had managed a questioning noise. The likes of him? 

“Your kind, Stiles,” the man elaborated, “Your kind of filth.” He stood up and walked out of the bedroom.

Stiles had taken the opportunity to do some fast thinking. Twisting his head around he’d tried to get his arms and legs to move with more coordination than a landed fish. His noticed his phone lying just near his bed. He was sure it had been on his bedside table earlier, it must have been knocked off in the struggle.

The front door opened and closed. 

There were no other noises, so Stiles had rocked his body and within a short period of time, managed to roll himself closer to his bed, his face resting near his phone. He couldn’t force words past his lips as his tongue was feeling heavy, so calling anyone was out. His fingers still had relatively good control, and he had a second of indecision in texting Scott, but instead typed in the code to start the program for the surveillance cameras.

Neither his dad nor himself had taken any of the cameras down from the house after the possession, although they were not on normally. There was an unspoken agreement they both felt better with them there, and a hope that they’d never have to be used again.

Rolling back over, he’d flicked his eyes up to the corner of his room and sighed when he saw the red dot that showed the camera on and recording. 

 

***

 

“Do you think you’ll escape from here?” the man asked curiously as he breathed over Stiles’ face. “Do you imagine this won’t end in your death?”

The man pushed down on Stiles’ stomach and a spike of agony resulted. Stiles moaned silently but ignored it as best he could; instead letting it flow and wrap around him. 

“You’re still in denial, I can tell.” 

The man is full of conversation sometimes. 

“You’re not looking good.” The man obviously takes pleasure in this fact. “More like a corpse, or a monster. But then, that’s what you are.”

He pressed down harder. 

Stiles would vomit but there's nothing to give up; not even bile. He’s empty; hollow like a drum. He doesn’t even have hunger pains anymore. The pain he does have is a burning that starts at his throat and radiates outwards, made worse by the man’s persistent prodding to get him to react.

The man spills words that overlap and tumble against each other. They become a weaving mass. Then nothing. 

When it’s silent apart from his breathing, Stiles isn’t sure if the man is still there or if he’s left him alone. He doesn’t look, even if not knowing is as bad as the pain. 

The anticipation of further assault; verbal or otherwise, chews on his brain.

 

***

 

Sometimes he gets flashes of memories or dreams.

He’s in his house, in the living room. His dad, Scott and Lydia are there, looking defeated. 

Scott places his elbows on his knees and leans forward in the chair he’s sitting in, dropping his head, frustrated and upset. 

His dad runs a hand over his unshaved chin and then rubs the back of his neck, sitting back on the couch. 

Lydia’s sitting near him, her back ramrod straight, knees together. Her lips pressed into a dainty but troubled moue.

As curious as this dream is, as much as Stiles wants to know what’s going on, something else catches his attention.

It’s a familiar feeling, one he knows from the Nogitsune; the sensation of taking other people’s pain. It’s like a finger running down the inside of his ribs, reaching out and hooking the emotions then reeling them in. He’d freak out about it, but he’s had so many nightmares about the fox that he’s a bit weary of it all, though he does wish it would stop. 

Stiles kneels in front of his dad; taking in his worn eyes, the crease between the brows. It breaks his heart to see his dad this way and he rests his hand on his dad’s knee, gasping at the burst of sadness that rushes into him from the contact.

“Dad,” he says softly, but doesn’t expect an answer.

He wants to get rid of the pain inside his dad. So he tries reaching out with the nasty hook to suck the pain into himself. But it won’t give up so easily. It’s holding onto his dad and its growing, getting bigger the more he takes. He keeps pulling and does his best to enfold all of his dad’s grief inside himself.

It doesn’t work.

Angry at his inability to rid his dad of it, he pulls harder, ignoring the sensation of being bloated in his own skin. He can take it, he can take it all.

An urgent noise makes him look up from where his fingers are pressing hard into his dad’s knee. 

His dad is shaking, taking huge wracking breaths and choking on tears. 

With horror, Stiles stops pulling. Somehow by trying to relieve his dad of the pain he managed the opposite. 

“Noah?” Lydia asks, frowning in alarm.

Stiles pushes himself away, loosing his connection. He feels like he deflates and is suddenly empty. The filled-to-the-brim sensation is gone, leaving him shaken and flat. His fingers brush against Lydia’s knee as he moves back. 

She twitches like she felt the touch.

Stiles feels himself start to fade from the room. Before he goes, his dad and Lydia look right at him with wide eyes.

Lydia’s voice is clear and like a bell inside his head. 

“Stiles?!!”

 

***

 

The man comes back again and again, taunting him.

Part of Stiles recognizes that the man is lonely, and possibly insane. He’s always hurtful. 

“Not dead yet? That’s surprising. I understood this could take a while, but you’ve passed expectations. And even though watching you rot to death is amusing, let’s see if we can speed things up.” 

The man grabs Stiles’ jaw and shakes his head, roughly. 

There’s a bloom of agony that runs down Stiles’ spine and he takes a deep, shaky breath, his head lolling against the floor when the man lets go.

“Your ability to take pain is impressive. I wonder what you went through before this, to be able to do it?” 

He leans down on Stiles' stomach once more, crushing him into the floor, but Stiles makes no further noise than rasping breathing, waiting for something to rupture under the pressure.

The man sighs, disappointed. 

A small part of Stiles feels vindicated by it, being able to deny him something.

“Alright, Stiles, you’ve been an enlightening test subject and we’re almost at the end. We’ve found out what the necklace does to you.” 

There’s a sharp ping of pain in his throat as the man touches the metal that rests there. It radiates into his ears. 

“But how much faster will your death come with more jewelry, do you think?” 

The man picks up Stiles’ hand, and something achingly cold is fastened around his wrist. Then another something presses into him, and the pain changes from waves rolling through him into a burning flame. 

It brings Stiles back to full consciousness so fast, it’s like he woke up from one of his night terrors. But he’s not waking up from it, he’s living it. 

Stiles can’t stop the scream that tears through his abused vocal chords. He tastes blood at the back of his throat and his body flops around in the man’s hold.

Stiles rolls his eyes up, to where the man is squatting over him. He’s holding one of Stiles’ wrists which now has a metal band around it and through it. There’s a nasty grin on the man’s face as he finally gets the reaction he wants. 

He reaches for Stiles’ other wrist, and Stiles can’t look away as he snaps the metal closed around it. He picks up a thin metal pin and waves it like a baton at Stiles, before slotting it into the hole on one side of the band. 

Stiles tries to pull away, but the man easily holds him still with only the grip on his wrist. He pushes the metal pin into the hole and Stiles screams again as it pierces his skin and slides into his wrist. He feels it popping out the other side.

“There you go,” the man says, pleased with his surgery.

The pain quickly sucks Stiles into true unconsciousness. 

 

***

 

Stiles is shocked when Derek is in his next dream. 

He looks older than when Stiles saw him last and it’s obvious that he’s grieving. He hasn’t been so upset since Cora was dying and it makes Stiles’ heart ache for him. Derek must have lost another person he cares for. 

Stiles knows Derek was with Braedon, so maybe she’s the cause. He can’t help the fleeting hope it is her and not Cora because he likes Cora, whereas Braedon? Not so much.

But Derek shouldn’t have to loose anyone else in his life. Even if it would give the dark envious part of Stiles’ being unwanted satisfaction if it was indeed Braedon. 

Stiles wants to put his fingers on Derek’s face; run his palm down his cheek. Give him some kind of solace. But he doesn’t move. Derek wouldn’t want his concern, or his too-personal efforts at helping, and Stiles won’t encroach on his personal space, even in a dream.

Derek’s sitting at Scott’s kitchen table and he and Scott are arguing about something. It doesn’t last long; neither one of them have the energy to stay angry. As Scott sits back in his chair there are tears in his eyes.

Stiles needs to believe that this is real. He wants it so much, but there have been many dreams. He dreams all the time now; when he’s awake and asleep. 

Since the metal bands were placed on his wrists he’s been fading fast, and his mind is wandering around becoming detached. He doesn’t forget who he is, or what’s happening to him, but the dreams are sucking him in further and further. 

He can’t say he really cares; they’re better than what awaits him when he wakes in his cell.

He dreams of everyone he loves; his dad, Scott, the pack. And now Derek. Derek, who became a true wolf to save his friends and avenge his family. 

Stiles fades away from the kitchen as Scott and Derek sit despondently across the table from each other. 

 

***

 

Stiles spends long moments staring at his hands. He thinks about butterflies that are pined to boards for entomologists to study. The man likes to study Stiles.

He takes note of Stiles’ reactions to the things he does to him, curious as to how much something hurts, and how long Stiles can continue to survive. 

He’d made sure to position Stiles’ hands near his face for this reason. 

Stiles can’t consciously move his hands at all. He’s numb from his wrists down to his fingertips. One finger twitches of its own volition, in time with the slow pumping of his heart, which keeps a constant tempo in his head.

The bands are the same as the one on his neck, although that one doesn't have the metal pin through it. All three are made of iron and burn with cold fire. A deep ache radiates outwards and has sunk into him so deeply he couldn’t guess what it would be like to be free of it.

Stiles was worried about the color of his hands. 

Blue finger tips right down to the second knuckle in some places. Deep almost black nails. Dark purple veins in the too-thin wrist. Pale gray skin everywhere else. 

Are the colors making the skin seem pale, or is the paleness making the colors deeper and more pronounced? He doesn’t know. 

He shivers through his next pained breath and holds it for a while, watching his hands as they die in front of him. 

The man is very smart. He knows what he is doing. The metal bands and their piercings have effectively robbed Stiles of the hope he was accused of having.

 

***

 

Stiles watches Malia beating on Liam. They may be training. It’s hard to tell when they’re taking aggressive clawed swipes at each other. When Scott yells at them to stop, and they do, he still isn’t sure. 

Malia manages to rake her claws across Liam’s face one last time. He snarls at her, and Scott gets between them.

Stiles smiles at Malia’s ferocity. As much as it can scare him, he loves this part of her. Claws and stubbornness have obviously been his thing for a while now. 

Malia sneers at Scott and Liam. She’s incredibly angry, so angry she’s shaking with it. 

Stiles tries to touch her, but fades out of the dream. 

 

***

 

Stiles is crying almost nonstop. He’s lost his breath and passed out from it more than once. It’s only noise, there are no tears; he’s too dehydrated. 

The sound that comes from his throat is as terrifying as his inability to stop making it. He sounds like a trapped animal slowly dying and unable to do anything, other than make the most pitiful of painful noises against its death. 

That’s exactly what he is. An animal. Trapped. Dying. 

It’s too slow. It needs to end. He wants it to end. 

 

***

 

Kira’s hugging Lydia as they sit on Scott’s bed with him. Lydia’s eyes are red like she’s been crying.

Stiles feels like he’s let them all down and it’s overwhelming. He touches Lydia’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Lyds.”

She stiffens in Kira’s arms and turns her head a little.

“What?” Scott asks.

She shakes her head. “I thought there was something.”

Stiles places his hand back on Lydia’s shoulder. Had she heard him? “I’m here, Lydia.” 

Lydia frowns. “Stiles?” She shushes Kira and Scott as they start exclaiming and asking what’s happening. “Stiles?” she asks again, more urgently.

If Lydia can hear him; and this was actually happening, it meant Stiles was dead, or about to die. Or this was just another dream. Something his mind made up, just like the others. 

But if it wasn’t? 

Stiles touches Lydia’s shoulder again. “Lyds, can you hear me?”

His mind is a cruel place if this is only a dream. He dares not squash the flutter of hope that it could be real.

“Yes! Stiles! Where are you?!” Lydia’s eyes are flicking around the room, trying to see him.

The dream start to fade, but before he leaves Stiles manages to say, “Tell Scott, I saw the orange tree.” 

He doesn’t know if she hears him.

 

***

 

Stiles can breathe and open his eyes, but his arms are heavy weights and he’s lost the feeling of his legs. His entire being is squashed up inside his head and it’s too much for such a small ridiculous space. Soon his brain will shut down, and he’ll leak out into the universe and be lost to the endless dark. He’s riding out the ending of himself with blinks and sighs.

There’s no longer any pain. 

The man had come and gone for the last time, telling Stiles he didn’t matter anymore because he’d given the man what he needed. 

Stiles had wanted to yell at him: He mattered! He did! He had people who loved him, who were searching for him. 

But he was so tired and his body was rotting from the poisonous metal, so he said nothing.

The man had rolled Stiles onto his back and turned his head towards the door. As a last 'screw you' the man had left the door open. Then he'd laughed, and walked away.

Stiles stares unfocused, through the doorway of his cell to the wall of another building. There’s graffiti on it that an artist had been paid to paint years ago when Beacon Hills Council had cared to beautify the area. The care had dried up as quickly as the funds. But the graffiti was still beautiful to Stiles. He imagines the painted tree is real; that the leaves were blowing in a wind he could feel on his face, and that the oranges would taste so sweet were he to pick one and take a bite.

His eyes drop closed, and there is relief that it will be over soon.

 

***

 

He feels vibrations in the floor through his head. 

Things are moving around him. He hears yelling and growling, loud voices and thumping. 

He feels the swishing feeling of light touches to his cheek. 

 

***


	2. The Hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wakes up ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter includes listing of injuries sustained through torture. Not intended to be medically correct.

Stiles may not be dead because he hears the beeping of hospital machines. He wakes up a little more when he feels someone touching his arm. The fact that he can feel his arm is shocking to him and the beeping noise speeds up.

“Stiles?!” 

It’s his dad’s voice, filled with relief and expectation. 

“Oh, thank God. Stiles? Wake up, son. Please, wake up now.”

He tries to, he wants to. 

But he’s still so tired.

 

***

 

Stiles can’t seem to progress from a state of continuing to wake up. He’s constantly opening his eyes to different faces; his dad, his friends, nurses, doctors. But then he’s pulled back under again and everything falls away. 

He remembers waking up, then waking up, then waking up. 

He has a time when Lydia grips his hand and he wants to weep for joy because he can feel it and he was sure his hands were gone. 

He wakes to Scott staring at him and then yelling for someone because Stiles had opened his eyes.

One time, Derek moves back from being in his personal space as he comes to, but that is definitely a dream. Stiles doesn't even know where Derek is, let alone the reason why he’d be by Stiles’ bedside. 

When he finally manages to keep his eyes open and not fall back asleep almost immediately, he’s alone and the room he’s in is dark and quiet apart from the machines he’s hooked up to. He can feel every part of his body and relishes the fact, even though he’s incredibly sore and, he finds as he tries to shift just a fraction, also incredibly weak. 

The door opens and the welcome form of Melissa comes into view. “Oh, honey,” she says quietly and with relief, “there you are.”

Stiles looks into her eyes and there’s only compassion and love looking back. He starts to cry silently, tears that flow easily and quickly like a tap has been turned on. 

Melissa holds his hand and places her other one on the side of his face. “I know, Stiles, I know,” she whispers, wiping his tears with her thumb. She calls for another nurse to find the sheriff and tell him his son is finally fully awake. 

Stiles doesn’t even have a chance to stop his tears before his dad is rushing into the room. Then they’re both crying, and he’s being hugged too hard. His dad sits on the hospital bed and just leans into Stiles. It hurts everywhere his dad is touching but all he wants is for his dad to just keep hugging him and never let go. He rests his head up against his dad's shoulder, and hates that he’s too weak to give a proper hug back.

When his dad moves away, Stiles wants to hold him still, keep the hug going, and feels almost desolate when it’s over. His chest starts hurting and the monitors beep faster. He wants to talk, but his throat is stinging and he can’t reach to pull at the metal band around his neck.

His dad catches his fluttering fingers where they’re rasping against the bed sheets and holds them gently. 

Stiles makes a distressed whining noise that makes his throat burn. He tries to swallow but his throat is too dry and it keeps hurting as his breathing starts to get shallow. 

He’s staring at the ceiling when his dad holds an ice chip to his mouth. It melts quickly and he only has to open his lips slightly for the wonderful wetness to sooth the pain. As the burn lessons, Stiles calms and his head clears. The monitors slow down and his chest no longer feels like it wants to explode.

His dad holds up another ice chip. He’s got a cup of them and Stiles bets it was Melissa who had the foresight to give it to him.

“Stiles, it’s okay,” his dad is telling him.

It’s not, it’s really not. 

Stiles shakes his head slightly. He wants his dad to help him out here, but he can’t speak to let him know what the problem is. Before he can spin into more panic, his dad shows him why he’s the best dad ever and reads his mind.

“They’re gone Stiles. They’re all gone.” His dad puts the cup down and gently lifts Stiles’ hand, supporting his elbow. 

A perfect white bandage is wrapped around his wrist instead of a cruel metal band and pin. His dad lifts his other hand to show him a second matching bandage. 

Stiles swallows shallowly and winces at the pain. His dad lifts his hand further and Stiles touches his throat with fluttering fingers. He finds the edge of the bandage. He gets a finger underneath before his dad tsks at him and lies his arm back on the bed. 

His dad keeps holding his hand and strokes his thumb gently over a patch of undamaged skin. “Okay?” he asks. 

Stiles gives a shallow nod, because even though there’s a hell of a lot wrong, he knows for sure that the poisonous metal is gone. He blinks away the tears that had formed again. Relief makes his head swim. 

He manages to press his fingers into his dad’s grip in thanks. His dad smiles crookedly in understanding.

Melissa enters the room, wanting to make sure everything was okay after the monitors had relayed Stiles’ agitation to the nurses’ station. His dad explains what had happened and Stiles finds himself falling asleep quickly after Melissa ups his pain medication. He couldn’t stop from wincing when she’d checked inside his mouth and didn’t try to stop her when she suggested more pain relief.

His dad stayed with him as he drifted off, telling Stiles he’d be there when he woke up again and how much he loved him.

 

*** 

 

The days go by, with Stiles spending more and more time awake. 

As he comes back to himself, he makes an important decision. There’s going to be a lot of questions for him as soon as they think he’s capable of answering. He doesn’t want to talk about what happened to him at all; he’s having disturbing dreams and the memories hurt. He does his best to ignore most of what happened, though there are some parts that are crystal clear; parts he can’t let go off, things he isn’t going to tell anyone.

To give himself time before the questions start, he fakes listlessness and ignores the gentle overtures of the hospital staff.

With his throat still healing there’s an excuse for being quiet, but his general tiredness and despondency starts to worry the nurses and his dad. Stiles knows he’s being a bit of a dick towards everyone with his attitude, but if he can flatten out everything in his brain, he’ll know what to say when the time comes. 

Eventually, he figures out enough and he starts to get restless. As restless as his body will let him be. He stops pretending but it still takes a whole week of being awake and alert enough during routine checks before anyone decides to talk to him about the abduction.

 

***

 

Stiles’ bed has been raised a little so he’s no longer lying flat, and it was great. He’d wanted to sit up fully, but Melissa had explained how he’d suffer dizziness and possible nausea with too sudden a change in position, so he’d made do with turning on his side and with only a slight tilt to the bed.

Strength was slowly returning to his body, and Melissa had told him that someone would discuss exercise and conditioning options when he was ready. He was pretty sure whatever physiotherapy he’d be given would be horrible, but the fact that it was even an option had him excited enough that he didn’t care about how bad it would be.

Scott and his dad had arrived pretty much together, and Melissa left, saying she’d make sure they weren’t interrupted. By the expression on both their faces, it was time to talk about what had happened. Stiles was ready for it. He had answers worked out and they were the truth. For the most part.

Stiles assumed the police had done their usual thing of starting local and then branching further out in their search for him. He wasn’t going to ask his dad how the official search went. He’d never put much hope in that, honestly. It wasn’t that he didn’t put stock in his dad’s job, or the police in general. It was just that when he was taken his immediate thought was the pack, and his dad in an un-official capacity, would save him.

“We kept it simple for the official story,” Scott started. 

He was leaning forward and was obviously very happy to be within touching distance of Stiles. He kept placing a hand on his foot or ankle through the bedsheets. They’d already had their emotional reunion when Stiles had been coherent enough for it, but Scott was still very clingy when he visited. Stiles soaked it up like a sponge.

“I’m sorry dude, but no one actually knew you were gone until your dad got home later that night.”

Stiles waved away the apology. He didn’t want Scott feeling guilty about something he shouldn’t.

“Turning on the cameras was real smart, kiddo,” his dad smiled with pride. “It helped us get a task force on your case quick smart. You kept your head in a difficult situation and gave us information we needed.” There were unshed tears in his eyes. 

Stiles croaked out, “Next?” 

“It was honestly one of the worst times of my life. Of all of our lives,” Scott continued. 

Stiles snorts softly. What an understatement.

“We spent every moment looking for you. I swear I know Beacon Hills better than I ever did. You should know that Derek came back two days into your disappearance. I was surprised by how quickly he did, but now I understand why, and so, yeah, Derek helped find you.” Scott patted his foot, and gave him a tight smile that was altogether much too knowledgeable for Stiles’ liking.

He wasn’t sure how to react to the news that Derek was back. He was a bit blindsided by it, but mostly he was feeling slightly nauseous. He was also starting to feel like he was being interrogated even though he hadn’t been asked anything. His chest was a little tight. 

His dad and Scott shot each other a glance that spoke volumes of something. 

Stiles’ chest tightened a little more.

“Breathe, Stiles. Focus on me, come on. That’s it. Breathe with me,” his dad said, calmly.

Stiles stared at his dad and forced his breathing to match his. Slow, in and out, until the building panic had lessoned. His heart was thumping at a higher rate, which had Scott leaning towards him, but the anxiety was fading.

“Should we keep going?” his dad asked.

Stiles nodded. He was curious as to how they’d found him.

“The official search turned up nothing. If it hadn’t been for the pack and Derek, I think, though I hate to say it, we’d still be looking.” Stiles’ dad was obviously pretty annoyed about that. He frowned and slumped a bit in his chair.

“How?” Stiles whispered.

Scott shrugged. “Magic? Honestly we don’t know. The clue that helped us find you was you. At least we think it was.”

Stiles stared at him.

Scott asked, “Do you remember anything strange happening when you were gone?”

Stiles shook his head, not understanding.

Scott sighed. “Okay. Well, Lydia thought you were on the spirit plane.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes as a memory tugged at him. He’d had so many dreams while in his cell, but he had a feeling there was something he needed to remember.

Scott kept talking, “One night, both Lydia and your dad swear they saw you for a second.”

Stiles’ dad nods firmly. “It’s true, as strange as it sounds.”

Stiles should know this. It’s so familiar.

“You really don’t remember any of this?” Scott asked again.

Stiles shook his head once more. Scott and his dad are quiet while he tries to remember. The memories are shaky and fragmented, but he manages to catch one. 

He can’t be sure, but he asks, “A tree?”

Both Scott and his dad react like they’d been electrified, and Scott exclaims, “You did do it!”

Stiles’ dad sits up and tightens his grip on Stiles’ hand, but he says nothing.

Stiles still isn’t sure what exactly is going on. He needs Scott to start explaining better or he’s going to have to start asking more questions, damn his sore throat.

“Dude, Lydia swore you got a message to us, to me. It was about an orange tree. And you just mentioned it, so it must have actually happened!”

Stiles was slightly amused that Scott was so excited, but it obviously hadn’t occurred to him how it was managed. His dad on the other hand, had gone there first thing. The grip he had on Stiles’ hand tightened further, without being hurtful. 

“Stiles, just how did you do that?” his dad asked. “Lydia said it’s spirits that she hears. How did she hear you?”

Scott sobers abruptly, working it out. “Oh.”

Stiles didn’t say anything, which was answer enough in itself. 

The silence that descended on the three of them only highlighted just how close he'd come to death. They’d known it of course; he was dying when they found him, but being able to talk to Lydia on the spirit plane was a stark reminder.

Stiles doesn’t want to go into that right now. “Found me?” he asks.

“I didn’t know what it meant! Orange tree. Really?” Scott shakes his head. 

Stiles just shrugs a little. He’s pretty sure he was lucky to get that much to Lydia. 

Scott sighs. “Anyway, I honestly didn’t figure it out. It was Derek. He was methodical. It was amazing to watch really." 

Stiles couldn’t help but smile slightly, and then stopped because his dad was watching him. 

“He figured if your message was real, than you’d have to be somewhere both of us had been together. He got a huge map of Beacon Hills and marked those parts. It was like watching you do your thing with your boards. When I asked him, he said something about Malia once telling him to think like you.”

Stiles hoped whatever chemo signals he was giving out at hearing that were not too telling, but Scott’s hand pressed harder against his foot, so he was pretty sure he’d failed. 

“Lydia researched orange trees around the county and Derek put them to his map, to find the places that overlapped where you and I had been. Then we searched each place. Derek checked a lot on his own. It’s surprising how many places there were.”

Stiles’ dad cuts in, “Lydia found a story about the down-town industrial area and the art that had been painted on the buildings. There were photos and one showed an orange tree.”

“That’s when I remembered!” Scott cuts in. “We’d been skating down there just after the painting and your dad’s deputies ran us out one day when the building owners got jack of us. You fell off your board and skinned your knees up pretty bad and we hid from the cruiser. While we waited for them to leave, we took a look at the new graffiti.”

Stiles finished the story with a smile and slow words, “You liked the girls.”

Scott grinned and said in defense, “They were in belly dancing clothes!” 

His dad rolled his eyes. “If ever I was grateful for my son’s delinquent ways, it’s for your habit of skating wherever you legally shouldn’t. It saved your life. You saved your life.”

Stiles shook his head. “No. You did.” 

He couldn’t take the credit for that, he’d been waiting to die. He’d given a clue, but they’d put the pieces together. Hell, Stiles hadn't even known at the time if the dream had been real. He’d just taken a chance. 

They’d figured it out. They’d found him. Derek had figured it out. 

“Derek,” he started to say, but stopped.

“Yeah. He did,” his dad agreed. 

“Man who took me?” 

His dad shook his head, “No. We didn’t get him. But we will.” His mouth twisted in distaste.

Stiles understood not having the man in custody would be weighing on his dad. Not just because it was his job, either. How did his dad compartmentalize the parts of himself that wanted revenge for what had been done to his son, when he was the sheriff and supposedly had to do right by the law, even in this? 

There was a short silence between the three of them, before his dad continued talking.

“Finding you is the part that’s tricky for the official story, We can’t honestly say you sent a spirit message, or whatever, to a banshee, and a pack of supernatural creatures found you because of it. The easiest way was to create a fake tip off. And there you have it, that’s everything.” 

Stiles put another mental tick to how many times his father had gone against his own morals for Stiles’ sake. He understood a bit of creative record tampering was an appealing choice to make in light of everything, but still. 

He made small ‘come here’ motions until his dad leant over and gave Stiles his hug. “Thank you,” he whispered into his dad’s ear.

“Always, Stiles. You know this.” 

 

***

 

Stiles found out more about his injuries when Dr. Geyer came to visit shortly after his dad and Scott left. He hadn’t asked before but wanted details now, and he’d apparently passed an undefined point in his recovery where Liam’s dad thought he was capable of hearing them. 

Stiles had talked to Liam about his dad before. More than once. It never ended well. Liam was still trying to live two separate lives, one where he was a super badass werewolf and the other where he was human and his parents had no idea it was a lie. 

Before his kidnapping, Stiles had told Liam that it was better when the people they loved were in the know. Now, after the kidnapping, Stiles was the king of hypocrisy.

Dr. Geyer stood at the bottom of Stiles’ bed, notes in hand. 

“Okay, Stiles. We’ll do a run down of everything, if that’s okay with you. If you prefer, your dad can be in the room for our conversation. I know he’s somewhere about and we can find him if you’d like. He has given me the go ahead to talk to you without him, but it’s your call.”

Stiles shook his head. His dad was probably filling up on sugary foods in the hospital cafeteria, knowing his days of slacking on his diet were numbered. While Stiles was gearing up for the epic showdown on that, he didn’t need his dad here while all of his injuries were being held up to the spotlight. 

Dr. Geyer nodded. “Just so you know, your father was informed of your injuries to the extent that was required in order for him to give permission in regards to your care. This included all tests and your operations,” he gestured to Stiles’ wrists. “As sheriff, and because your injuries are part of an ongoing case, he was also given a legally required brief on your condition.”

This was pretty much as Stiles suspected so he just nodded.

“Now, Stiles, this next piece of information is probably already known to you. When you were first admitted it was presumed that your injuries would prove fatal.” 

It was obvious by the poignant pause he gave, that Dr. Geyer was watching Stiles’ reaction very carefully. Stiles waited him out. 

“Hmm. Let’s continue." Dr. Geyer gestured to the bed sheets. "May I?” 

Stiles shrugged. 

Dr. Geyer removed the sheets, and Stiles looked down at his body and grimaced. He’d been holding off on having a good look at his injuries. 

There were plasters covering pieces of skin, and a soft cloth over his groin area, but what was visible made him look like a zombie movie extra. He was pleased that his legs were in surprisingly good shape when compared to the rest of him. They were more yellow and blue, rather than the black and purple of his chest and stomach. 

Dr. Geyer continued talking as Stiles tried not to be too disgusted at the state his body was in. 

“On first admittance, you were unresponsive to stimuli and had extensive discoloration of the skin to most of your body. The worst is on your torso, neck, wrists and hands. In places, your skin was inflamed and in others, peeling. The admittance doctors initially assumed your internal organs were failing. But closer examination showed that while under stress, they are healthier than expected.” 

The bed sheet was placed back on Stiles, and he sighed quietly.

“Your skin inflammation had me guessing at iron poisoning. Hair analysis showed a worrying high level of iron, but no other tests have been conclusive. Which is strange, don’t you think?” Dr. Geyer quirked an eyebrow at him. 

Stiles ignored the question and looked down at his forearms. He eyed the lines of skin-bleeding that looked like a child had taken a marker pen to him. Coupled with his bruises, he was a man of many colors.

Dr. Geyer pointed to the lines. “Your bruising is the result of your blood not clotting correctly after injury. You’ve lost weight too. The weight loss can make you feel lethargic and will contribute to any motor control issues. Are you experiencing this?”

“Yeah.” It was a source of constant frustration.

“I am optimistic there will be no lasting effects because you’ve already shown signs of replacing what fat had been lost. The muscle will come with exercise and time. I’m happy to say your bruising has not gotten worse, only shown signs of healing. Which means whatever was causing the prolonged bleeding has righted itself.” Dr. Geyer caught Stiles’ eye. “A lucky break, you could say.” 

He tapped his notes. “Your legs, including feet and knees, are in relatively good shape. Significant bruising, but no other injury. Next, and this is an important question, Stiles, but feel free to take your time to answer. There were a number of examinations that were required when you first arrived. We found no trace of anal tearing, but I need to ask you anyway. Were you subjected to any sort of sexual abuse?"

Stiles blinked. 

The man who’d taken him had not hinted at any sexual gratification, interest or even threat in that area. It occurred to him he’d been lucky in that regard.

He forced himself to keep looking Liam’s dad in the eye when he answered, “No. No sexual abuse.” 

That should not have been so hard to say. 

Dr. Geyer nodded like the answer was what he’d been expecting. “The urinary catheter will be removed when the swelling and bruising around that area has healed.”

Stiles didn't want to think about the catheter. It was uncomfortable and somewhat embarrassing. He’d had to explain its purpose to Malia when she’d visited him and a nurse was in the middle of changing a bag. She’d barged in and the nurse had been angry at her for the intrusion. Stiles had just been thankful she hadn’t been there a few seconds before when the nurse had the bedsheets and cloth folded back and had been checking the tube connection.

“Now about the large amount of bruising on your chest and stomach areas,” Dr. Geyer paused and frowned. “If continuing with this is too much, Stiles, we can stop for a while. Or get your dad?”

Stiles had started to pant a little at the mention of his stomach. He took a breath, held it, and shook his head. 

“There’s evidence to suggest there was excessive pressure applied to your body in these areas. Is this something that happened?” 

Stiles slowly nodded. The pain was still fresh in his mind. He could see the man leaning over him, pressing down.

“You don’t need to go into details, Stiles. Let’s continue. Your arms from your shoulders to elbows are bruised, but like your legs, are relatively sound.” Dr. Geyer was watching Stiles very carefully. “Are you okay for me to talk about the injuries to your wrists?” 

As that was the most obvious sign of physical torture, Stiles wasn’t surprised by the question. He shrugged and then nodded. He had to deal with this part clinically or he’d have Melissa turn up to check him and the heart monitor. He wished they’d take it off. The sound had been turned down but was on constant relay to the nurses’ central station. The monitoring was for his own good, but it annoyed him to have it. 

“You underwent surgery on your wrists to remove the metal bands. You will have slight scarring where the metal pierced your skin but you should have full wrist function when completely healed. Luckily, there was no major damage done to bone or soft tissue.”

Stiles looked at the bandages covering his wrists. He flexed his fingers slightly. 

“The swelling and bruising of your hands make them look worse than they are. Some of the skin has split on the knuckles, hence the plasters, but that will also heal. You have no major nerve or tendon damage. Although you’ll have full movement, there may be discomfort with bad weather.” 

His voice showed sympathy at Stiles’ inability to hide the effect these words had on him. The fact he had movement in his hands had caused a few tears to slip down Stiles’ cheeks before he'd blinked them away. Dr. Geyer had no idea how scared Stiles had been when he’d been lying in his cell, believing his hands had died. He’d been so sure they were going to fall off.

He pressed his fingertips softly to the bed to feel the sensation. 

His hands may make a full recovery, but they looked pretty gross right now. The skin was a range of hues, none of them healthy looking. His fingernails made him look like a goth wannabe. Black on black with a touch more black. He’d been told by Melissa he’d loose them as new ones grew to replace the dead nails. That was a disgusting idea which Stiles didn’t want to dwell on. 

“I’m going to stress to you, Stiles, even though the nurses and myself have already mentioned this, how careful you have to be about talking. What we haven’t discussed is the extreme swelling, soft tissue damage and signs of vein decay to your neck and throat. Do you remember having injections in this area?” 

Stiles shook his head.

“None at all?” Dr. Geyer looked confused. “It was the most obvious reason. Another curious injury, Stiles. They are adding up, aren’t they?” 

That was the third time Liam’s dad had hinted he was working with limited knowledge because Stiles wasn’t telling him everything. It was unsettling.

“The vein collapse should heal soon and your voice should slowly return to normal when the swelling of your throat goes down. But no strenuous speaking and no yelling at all. You pulled a breathing tube when you first showed signs of consciousness. It was replaced with an oxygen mask which was removed before you woke up fully.”

Stiles doesn’t remember any of that.

“Your face will have no lasting damage.” 

The bleeding-line bruising around Stiles’ wrists had also occurred up his neck, onto his jaw, and partly up his cheeks and ears. He’d already had a close look when Lydia had held a mirror up for him because Mason had visited and made a comment Liam had punched him in the arm for. With deep dark circles under his eyes, along with everything else, Stiles had silently agreed with Mason about being ready for halloween. 

Dr. Geyer checked the watch on his jacket pocket and cast a look at the door. “I’m curious, Stiles. Your most prominent injuries are localized to your neck and wrist areas where the metal bands were. Do you have any information that could help explain that?”

“How would I know anything about it?” Stiles’ voice failed at the end and came out as a harsh whisper. He coughed until he took a sip of the water Dr. Geyer held out for him. He hadn’t been kidding about the talking. 

Stiles possibly did have iron poisoning. He’d not actually been aware it was something that could happen to people. But the man who took him had explained why he’d suffer from it. If Stiles believed him, the reason was also why his symptoms didn’t follow the normal human reaction to it. 

Putting the band on his neck was the first thing the man had done to him, the very first day, as soon as he’d been dragged into the cell. Stiles remembered laughing as he’d been told how it would kill him.

Half a day later he’d started to throw up and couldn’t stop. By the end of the second day, dizzy from vomiting and stomach cramps, dehydrated and hurting everywhere, Stiles had started to listen to what the man was saying. 

Dr. Geyer frowned at Stiles. “You’re lying.”

Stiles wasn’t going to be swayed by that and gave him a very unimpressed look. He also managed to croak out, “Why would I?”

“Don’t take me for a fool, Stiles. Ever since my family and I have moved here I have been witness to strange things occurring nearly every week. Including injuries with no sensible reasons behind them, healing at exceptional rates, or even healing when it should not occur at all. You, Stiles, are exhibiting all three.” 

Stiles swallowed slowly, and Dr. Geyer tracked the movement. “You’re friends with my son. He’s also shown accelerated healing, even though he too, tries to hide it from me.”

Stiles was sure at any moment Melissa, or which ever nurse was on duty, was going to barge into his room demanding to know why the heart monitor was telling them he was going into cardiac arrest. 

“Calm down, Stiles.” Dr. Geyer had the decency to look apologetic. “You’re looking at me like I’m the bad guy. I’m here to help you. If you won’t tell me what you know, I will go with what is explainable and, as I have done before, ignore what isn’t.”

Stiles had never expected to hear a doctor say anything like that. His skepticism was apparently easy to read.

“Believe me, Stiles, there have been weirder things in this hospital than you. Just answer me this so I know I am not putting your life in danger with my ignorance. Is there anything you haven’t told me that I need to know?”

Stiles took his time before he slowly shook his head. 

“But there is something, isn’t there.”

Stiles neither shook or nodded his head. 

Dr. Geyer looked disappointed. “Alright. If you have any questions, all you have to do is ask.” 

He walked out of the room.

 

***

 

Parrish came in the next day and went through Stiles’ statement with him. 

It should have been the easiest one he’d ever done, as his dad had written it for him beforehand and he only needed to sign off on parts and add a little bit of information here and there. The most important being what had happened before he’d turned the camera on and what happened after the man had found and broken his phone, bound his hands and feet, gagged him, and dragged him outside into a nondescript car. 

The phone breaking had been excessive and unnecessary, but after having spent time with the man Stiles understood it had been a way for him to show power.

Stiles had told Parrish about the paralyzing injections. He also told him the boot of the man’s car had smelt really bad. Like rotten curry. Being bound and tossed in the back had made sure Stiles got to smell it up close. He’d been going to vomit into his gag, it had been so strong. He’d passed out from it after a few minutes. 

Parrish had found that piece of information interesting so Stiles felt he’d done some good by mentioning it. 

He left out the part where the man told him he was going to kill him. 

It was obvious he’d almost died, but if Stiles said the man was actively working towards it he’d never be left alone again. Everyone would be convinced the man would come back because he hadn’t managed it.

Stiles wasn’t really worried that the man had managed to escape. Well, he was. But the man wouldn’t come back because he’d learnt what he wanted to. It hadn’t been personal. Not really. So the chances of him coming into contact with the man again could be considered pretty slim. 

Stiles kept the report of his time in the cell to minimal facts. It helped that he could say he was out of it for great lengths of time, because while true, the man had spoken to him a lot before it had gotten that bad. 

Stiles made sure he never mentioned the man’s curiosity. Or the reason he gave as to why Stiles had been taken. Sure, Parrish would have believed him, being a hellhound himself, but it wasn’t something that could be put in a police report.

It turns out, so Parrish told him, his cell was just a room in a storage building.

Parrish had looked up from where’d he’d been amending the report and asked, “Why do you call it a cell?”

Stiles wasn’t sure. It had always been his cell, so he’d just shrugged.

Parrish had eyed him curiously, but said nothing else about it.

Unfortunately, Stiles couldn’t give any further description of the man than what was already known from the video footage, and he never got a name. 

When there was nothing else the police needed to know, Stiles just made the appropriate noises until Parrish said he was happy that Stiles was back and getting better. He also said that Stiles had been exceptionally brave.

Stiles’ polite smile had fallen off his face as soon as the door closed behind Parrish. He lifted a hand and watched it shake for a few seconds before he lowered it. 

 

***

 

Just as Stiles suspected, his dad had been a force of nature through the hospital after he’d read the statement later that afternoon. But Stiles had done his best to explain he wasn’t worried, so his dad shouldn’t be either. He could tell his dad wasn’t buying it and possibly thought Stiles was in denial. 

That was confirmed the next day when a therapist come to visit to him. Stiles had known it was hospital policy after an abduction, but his dad and the therapist had greeted each other like they’d met before. His dad had walked out the door as the therapist turned a professional smile on him. 

Therapy was important and Stiles had benefited from it in the past. But this was a formality. His real therapist had been working with him for a while before his abduction and was clued in to the supernatural to an extent. Stiles had a good report with him. He didn’t know this one. Only that she said her name was Clarice and was one of the hospital’s on call therapists.

After ignoring all the Silence of the Lambs jokes running through his head as they hit a little too close to home, Stiles decided he wasn’t going to open up to her.

He did his best in the subsequent sessions to give the impression of someone working through mental and physical trauma in a healthy way. He managed to get the all clear in a relatively short period of time by giving the answers that were needed. It helped his dad at least, some of the tension leaving his shoulders when he heard Stiles was coping as well as could be expected. 

Stiles was lying to his dad. Again. 

Yeah, he was coping, but he had more important things he wanted to focus on than if he had any resentment or fear about what had occurred. 

Of course he did, but that was not important right now. 

He promised himself he would make it up to his dad as soon as he could. 

 

***

 

Stiles was trying, he really was, but yeah, physiotherapy sucked. He ached and burned but he grit his teeth and kept going. 

After a week his physiotherapist had remarked to his dad about Stiles' determination when his dad walked in on a session. 

His dad had laughed and said, “Don’t I know it. He’s always been the most stubborn person I’ve ever met, apart from his mother.”

Stiles had ducked down to hide his face as the physiotherapist and his dad shared a laugh, and focussed on talking the next step with his walking stand.

He also had a dietitian, now his throat had healed enough and he’d been taken off the IV drip. His dad acted like that was hilarious. Stiles had to eat a certain amount of food each day to help build up his body mass. It was a difficult balance, his dietician told him, because while he needed energy foods rich in protein, calcium and everything else, he also needed to reduce his iron intake. He couldn’t eat certain foods because they helped him retain it. He had a list of foods and liquids to make it easier for him to understand what he could have. 

His dad had been chortling away over the prescribed dinner one night, when Stiles had said with only a little throat pain, “Come on, old man. Don’t even try to tell me you haven’t been ignoring your diet for the past month. I know it, you know it, Scott knows it. Hell, even Melissa knows it. And she’s the one who told on you, so don’t deny it.” 

His dad’s look of innocence and spluttered defense was funny. 

Melissa chose that moment to walk into his room. “What?” she said defensively to the half-hearted glare leveled at her.

Stiles huffed out a little laugh.

If his laugh had caused both Melissa and his dad to get happy looks on their faces, he didn’t need to acknowledge it. He just kept eating his dinner. 

 

***

 

Being in hospital was starting to dip into Stiles’ limited reserves of patience. 

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, determinedly trying not to dwell on the fact that even though everyone had visited him in the hospital a couple of times, there was one noticeable absentee. 

He couldn’t even ask anyone why Derek hadn’t visited, because, well, why would he? 

To the outside world, Derek and Stiles had a volatile and hard to explain friendship. If they’d had a bit longer, it could have developed and gotten stronger. It had been going that way. Derek had been opening up, and Stiles had been liking what he saw.

Not for the first time, Stiles cursed the women in Derek’s life for creating such insurmountable obstacles that he never stood a chance at achieving anything deeper with him. 

Not that Stiles had known he even wanted that. He was such an idiot.

And just because Derek had apparently dropped his life to save him, didn’t mean anything when the last time they were with each other there hadn’t actually been words. It had been more of a wordless goodbye, filled with a long stare and head nod on Derek’s side, and Stiles left feeling like he’d been punched in the chest but confused as to why. 

Stiles didn’t even know if Derek was still in Beacon Hills. Perhaps he’d done his Superman impersonation for the year and had flown off to parts unknown now that Stiles was no longer in need of rescue. 

He was getting steadily more depressed when Scott bounded into his room. 

They sat on his bed and talked about what had been going on in school and the fact there a new kind of supernatural in the preserve, but as they could only catch a scent they didn’t know what it was. While Stiles was interested, especially about the new creature, he obviously didn’t hide his preoccupation very well because Scott eventually stopped talking and sat watching him. 

“Stiles?” 

Stiles turned his head towards him, but his eyes stayed on the sky outside his window. “Hmm?”

“I wanted to let you know Derek is still here.”

Stiles tried to act only slightly interested. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“When’s he leaving?” 

“He’s, ah. He’s not.”

“No?”

“No.” 

Stiles did his best nonchalant impression. “Did he happen to say why he’s not going back to wherever he was?”

Scott tipped his head a little, first one way then the other. Stiles wanted to make a dog joke but didn’t. 

“He was going to go, but I asked him to stay.” 

Stiles guessed that made sense. He had a low hollow feeling in his gut, but the fact was Derek could do as he wished. So if he chose to stay for Scott, Stiles would support that. He could be … okay, with that. 

“He’s going to be pack, maybe,” Scott added. 

“Well, that’s good then, that would help you both, you’ll have another pack member, one that knows his stuff, and Derek won’t be so alone, so it’s a good idea. Good for you, Scott.” Stiles carefully swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up.

“Stiles, that’s not —”

“Did I tell you I get to go home this week?” Stiles asked, changing the subject. “I’m going to progress to a cane in the next few days and then I’m good to go!”

There was a bit more to it than that, but he was grabbing at straws.

Scott frowned but dropped whatever he’d been going to say. Instead, he placed his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. 

Warmth travelled into Stiles’ skin from the contact. It felt good enough for him to take a moment just to soak it up. He assumed it must be another wolf power Scott had developed but when he didn’t mention it, neither did Stiles. The moment ended when Scott removed his hand, the warmth ebbing away leaving Stiles slightly cold.

For the rest of the visit, they made plans to hang out when Stiles got home and have everyone over for a movie night. He was looking forward to that piece of normal, but wasn’t brave enough to ask if Derek would be there.

 

***


	3. The Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going home, where things will never be the same as they were before.

The first day he was home Stiles would have been jumping for joy if he wouldn’t have ended up flat on the ground if he tried. Instead he’d allowed his dad and Scott to help him out of the car, up the path, and into the house with minimal complaining on his part. 

He’d been given some time by himself and as he looked around his room and took in the faded bedsheets and the light coming in through the windows, he couldn’t help the huge grin that grew across his face. He shook off his slipper and stuck his socked foot into the sunlight. It felt amazingly good and Stiles almost groaned at the feeling.

He was so relieved to be home.

The more he let the sun’s heat sink into his foot, the more he wanted to lie down in that patch of light and let it soak through every bone of his body until he was nothing but contented feelings and lax muscle. 

His dad calling to him had him frowning as he looked around. He had a moment of confusion spiked with a little fear. 

He was standing with aid of his cane, in the middle of the patch of sunlight. He had one arm out of the sleeve of his flannel shirt and both slippers off. 

Stiles couldn’t remember moving from his bed. 

He took a slow step back out of the sunlight and carefully put his shirt back on properly. He was taking deep breaths and trying to stop the shaking in his hands when his door opened and Scott stuck his head in. 

“Your dad’s putting lunch together for us. You need help walking?”

Stiles gripped his cane tighter and forced out a wiry smirk. “Yeah. I don’t want to know what dad classifies as a good lunch. Do we even have anything edible or is the fridge a direct portal to high cholesterol?” He made a mental note to go through the kitchen and throw out all the crap that had inevitably made it’s way into the house while he’d been gone. 

Scott snorted his laugh, causing Stiles to stumble into him a bit as he placed an arm around Stiles’ middle. “Sorry. Um, I saw bacon and some other kind of cold cuts when I had a quick glance the other day. I don’t know how much worse it’s gotten.”

Stiles decided yelling that his dad’s bacon days were over and that there’d better be a salad waiting when he got to the kitchen, was a better use of his time than worrying about whatever had happened before with the sunlight.

 

***

 

Stiles sat back in his chair and dropped his pen on the desk in front of him. He ran his hands over his face and scratched at his scalp. 

It had been two days since he’d come home and his physical health was getter better. His mental health was another matter, but Stiles was a pro at hiding internal angst. It helped that everyone expected him to have some kind of anxiety at any given time. 

He didn't have to worry about school for a while, due to getting better, and his dad was watching TV downstairs, so he’d been working on the problem his abduction had brought up. So far, all the information he had was inconclusive. He’d been taking his displeasure out on a poor unfortunate stress ball. He’d stabbed it with his pen so many times it had broken open. 

He flicked the pieces off his table into the rubbish bin with a snarled, “Fat lot of good you did.”

He sighed, and rechecked what he’d written in the back of one of his text books along the margins.

Normally he would have put his findings up on one of his boards, but that allowed anyone who visited his room to know what he was working on. Including his dad. A book was the safest place to hide his research from any prying eyes. Who would look in a statistic school book? Not him. He’d avoid it, if nothing else.

He’d listed all of the ‘chance’ moments he could remember. All of the lucky breaks that allowed him to do something that was important. Things that could be, and had been, written off as spectacularly good fortune.

The list included having his bat hold up the beams under the Nemeton (when werewolf and human strength were failing), and getting phone reception in La Iglesia in time to help his dad save Lydia and Mason.

He’d also added holding Derek up in the pool for hours. Because while he had stamina, he didn’t have that much, and looking back, what he’d done was impressive and also somewhat impossible for him. 

There was also the time he’d gotten his jeep to work when he’d really needed to be somewhere. It hadn’t wanted to turn over but he’d just pleaded with it and it had kicked over. The next day he’d gotten in to drive to school, and his jeep had refused to go. He’d been reduced to calling for a tow to the mechanics and hitching a white-knuckled ride with Scott on the back of his motorbike. The mechanic had scoffed at him when he’d said it had been working the night before, because apparently his car had numerous damaged components which meant it wouldn’t be able to go anywhere, let alone start.

There were a few other things. 

Forgetting homework and having the teacher be called away suddenly, canceling the class, in two separate classes, on the same day. And then having that repeat in another class the week after when he’d forgotten to study for a quiz.

The weather clearing during a whole-week storm for the time it took to have a lacrosse match, after Stiles had taken a bet against Liam that the game would still be on, only for the storm to crash down over them at exactly the time the last ball had made it into the net as the game ended. 

Deacon had told him he had a spark and he’d certainly used something to be able to use mountain ash at least, but Stiles was a bit confused by his findings. His research told him a spark was an external manifestation of an internal belief. Coming from within him, Stiles should be able to use his spiritual energy, for want of a better word, to make things happen outside of himself. 

While it looked like he could and had been doing that, Stiles thought being able to manipulate the weather, without meaning to, had to mean something else was going on. He’d found reference to witches being able to, but it apparently took a lot of focus and sometimes even a group to control the outcome. 

That certainly didn’t cover Stiles’ half-felt wish to have the rain stop long enough for him to win four Ant-Man comics. Nor did it explain that when he’d made the bet, he’d been certain the rain was going to stop for that period of time. 

Stiles was beginning to believe Deaton was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t a spark but something else. 

Maybe he was something else.

He flipped open another book, this one Physics, because he was nothing if not paranoid, and looked at the back section where he’d scribbled in the notes pages. Here he’d drawn a line down the page and written up the top in bold and underlined: 

What is Stiles? 

Underneath the title on the left was a ‘Human’ check list. On the right was ‘Other’. There were points written under each.

First under Human was: Born of human parents. This was immediately followed on the Other side with: Could have possible genetic ties that are not known (as yet). 

The check points went on.

Human: Does not physically change into supernatural creature. Other: Has ability to make things happen with only belief. (May or may not be spark related.)

Human: Does not have extra strength or extra ability with the five senses. Other: Has developed ability to heal faster than normal. This could be related to kidnapping injuries only. Have not yet tested. 

For all his wanting to know what was happening, Stiles was not keen on the idea of hurting himself to find out if he healed from cuts or anything more damaging. He’d had enough injuries lately. So he wasn’t going to go there just yet. If ever.

Here is where the Human side of the list ended, but the Other side kept going:

Able to be poisoned by contact to iron. Resulting in body decomposition, and probable death without intervention.

Ability to project spirit (astral projection?), and to some extent, interact with other people while in spirit form. 

This one gave him pause, because what if it was something that anyone could do, if close enough to death and friends with a banshee?

He added one last point:

May be able to survive longer than humanly possible with no water.

He’d been held by the man for two weeks. In that time, Stiles couldn’t remember being given a drink or anything to eat. It was possible for a human to live ten days without water, but that was seriously stretching it. Normally, the rule was just three. It was three weeks for food, so it was the water had him questioning. The man may have given him some when he was unconscious, but Stiles doubted it.

Looking at the information, Stiles shook his head. He didn’t have enough to form any concrete conclusion and he didn’t know how to go about getting more information without talking to Deaton, which was just not going to happen, so he was essentially stuck. 

Although …

Stiles looked over at the sun coming through the window near his bed. His desk window had the shade shut and he wasn’t going to open it anytime soon. He’d been avoiding the sun’s beams as the idea he may have lost time, even for a minute, was enough to petrify him and send him into a cold sweat. 

But. There was something there. It was almost as if he could feel the sunlight calling to him if he listened. Which was insane. Right?

Stiles turned his chair around fully until he was sitting just outside the rectangle of light that fell on his floor. He needed answers didn’t he? 

He slowly put his hand into the sunlight and ignored how badly it was trembling.

 

***

 

“Stiles?” His dad was shaking his shoulder gently when he opened his eyes. 

Stiles looked around quickly but breathed out in relief when he found he was sitting on his floor. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Um. Meditating?” He waved vaguely in the direction of his folded legs. 

His dad’s eyebrows rose in disbelief and amusement. “Meditating.” He stepped back and crossed his arms. Stiles hated that pose. It meant his dad needed further proof to believe whatever it was that he was saying. 

“Yeah?” Stiles coughed. “Yeah. The hospital therapist said it could be good for me.” That, technically, wasn’t a lie. She had told him that. Stiles had had the same reaction as his dad to the suggestion. 

He looked for his cane and found it near his knee. 

His dad stepped forward and reached down a hand to help Stiles onto his feet. “You’re meditating.”

“You’ve said that.” Stiles took a somewhat wobbly step out of the window’s patch of sunlight. 

His dad snorted. “Yeah. And I’ll say it again. Possibly with even more skepticism. Because my son, who under normal circumstances has no ability to sit still what-so-ever, just told me he was meditating. Don’t you need to be able to focus for that?”

“Hey! I can focus!” Stiles exclaimed.

His dad laughed at Stiles’ expression. “Yes, for about ten seconds at a time.” He let Stiles’ elbow go when he could stand on his own and after a few more seconds of chortling at his expense, sobered enough to ask, “Seriously? Meditation?”

Stiles nodded while feeling a pang of guilt for the lie. But perhaps it was the truth. He couldn’t remember anything after putting his hand in the sunlight. Did that count as mediation?

His dad frowned. “Did it help? I mean, is it something you’ve found you need? Ah. I mean …”

His dad was floundering, so Stiles helped him out. “I guess. It’s not something I’d normally do, but maybe? I haven’t done that much, so I don’t know.” 

His dad nodded and lost his frown. “Oh. I called you earlier, but you didn’t answer. Because you were ‘meditating’.” He held up curled fingers.

“It doesn’t need air quotes, Dad.”

“Oh, yes, it does. But as I was saying, you missed lunch. Come and I’ll make you something.” He turned to walk out the door.

“You know, I love the caring and everything, but I can make myself something to eat,” Stiles called after him.

“I know. But this caring comes with a price.” His dad looked back at him. “It’s time we talked. This is what’s called caring and sharing. So get your butt moving.”

Stiles waited until his dad walked out of his room and down the hallway before he deflated just a little. 

“Well, crap.”

 

***

 

Stiles sat across from his dad in the kitchen. 

He picked at his rice salad and made sure he took a bite when his dad was looking, even though he was nervous enough he might spit it back up again.

“You don’t have to look so worried, Stiles.” 

His dad had a sandwich in front of him. A chicken on rye. It had had been amusing to watch his dad make it as he’d wanted corned beef but couldn’t find the tin which Stiles had thrown out that morning. 

“You’re not in any trouble. Why do you think you are? What have you managed to do since you were in hospital?”

Stiles opened his mouth, not even knowing what he was going to say.

His dad held up a hand, forestalling him. “On second thought, don’t answer that.”

Stiles closed his mouth.

“I just wanted to talk. So much has been going on, it’s been ages since it’s just been you and me, at home, sharing a meal.” 

Stiles took a moment to just look at his dad. He mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

His dad shook his head, “No. There’s no cause for that. You did nothing wrong.” He reached over and held Stiles hand. “I was terrified, Stiles. I couldn’t think straight.” His eyes started to get watery and he rubbed a hand across them. “But I believed somehow you’d help us to find you, and you proved me right.”

Stiles had to take his hand back and wipe his own face.

“You’re so brave, Stiles. You’re still being brave. I know it’s hard. I see what it’s doing to you. But you keep going. You always have. I’m in awe of you.”

Stiles couldn’t help the shaking that started as his dad spoke. It made his shoulders jolt with the effort of holding back. When it didn’t stop, he put his face in his hands. A deep shame was welling up from within.

His dad pushed his chair back and Stiles was pulled into a deep embrace which smelled of aftershave and soap and everything that meant home to him. His dad held him, made soothing noises and rubbed his back as Stiles started to weep silently. He was held until all he was capable of was hiccuping and wiping snot over his shirt.

His dad sat back down when Stiles had taken a couple of deep breaths and was calmer.

“I’m not brave, Dad.”

That confession hurt.

His dad was confused. “Stiles?”

“When I was taken, at the end, I couldn’t.” Stiles’ voice came out small and tired. “Dad. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Stiles hadn’t any idea when he’d sat down that this was what they’d be talking about. He assumed his dad would ask about kidnapping details and had been gearing up to give a mix of half truths. But his dad had told him how much he loved and admired him. God. He was not a person anyone should be admiring. His dad needed to know that.

“Before I was rescued I thought there was no way I was getting out. I’m not brave. I gave up and was waiting to die.”

His dad’s chair screeched across the linoleum, making Stiles flinch. His dad searched his eyes with a strange kind of desperation, then hugged him again, this time so tightly he had trouble breathing.

“Stiles, let me guess, you’re feeling like you somehow let yourself down, let me down, let everyone down.”

Stiles shrugged his shoulders in the confines of his father’s arms.

“But, Stiles, you’re wrong.”

Stiles leant his head against his dad’s stomach.

“God, Stiles. Okay, I grant you, I can’t fully understand what you went through. But what I saw was enough to make me feel like I was dying myself.” His dad blew out a ragged breath. “I’m asking you, Stiles, and I expect the truth. Do you want to die now?”

Stiles pulled his head up so fast he almost hit his father’s chin where he was bent over him. “No!”

He could feel the relief flow through his father’s frame, making him sag a little, before he squared up and stared Stiles down. “Then here’s how it is: You were in a very dark place. You were hurt and dying. You were almost dead, Stiles. But you’re alive now. And you want to live, now.”

Stiles nodded his head.

“That’s bravery right there. You don’t let that bastard win by giving up.” His dad was fierce in his words, and in the way he held onto Stiles. “Let me and your friends help you heal. I know you’re holding something back, but I’ll wait for you to tell me what it is. Just don’t take too long, okay? My old man bones may not be able to take it.”

Stiles leaned back into his dad. He was warm and comforting and loved Stiles so much. Yet in spite of all of that, for some reason he couldn’t promise to do what his dad wanted. So he hugged him, and then shooed him back around the table to finish his sandwich. 

His dad tried to hide his disappointment, but failed. 

And even though he hurt from putting that look on his dad’s face, Stiles still didn’t say anything. 

 

***

 

Stiles’ dad finally had to go back to work properly instead of the sporadic times he’d been putting in. He was on a double shift and Stiles was alone in the house for the first time since he’d been taken. He’d let his dad know that everyone was going to come over, and while it was the truth because they were going to have their movie night, his dad was under the impression they were coming over during the day. Stiles didn’t tell him otherwise.

This meant he had several hours to do what he’d been contemplating since his 'meditation'.

He stood just outside the patch of sunlight in his room.

Stiles had worked out when he was six that no one could see into his room from the neighboring houses, for which he had been increasingly thankful for these past few years. He was thankful again today, because he really didn’t want anyone to witness what he was going to do next. 

He'd double checked that the camera was not on in his bedroom. He’d even gone so far as to disconnect the program, because he couldn’t put it past his dad to turn it on while he was at work. He did not need his dad to witness this. There was a chance that his dad may worry if he couldn’t connect through to the house, but Stiles felt reckless enough to risk it.

He took a deep breath and started to take off his clothes. It was difficult standing using a cane while also undressing, so he wobbled over to the bed to sit. When he had nothing but his socks on he took a cursory look at his body. He would never consider himself as anything great, but before the kidnapping he was passable. Not so much right now. He still had a lot of weight to put back on and bones showing through skin had never been something he’d liked the look of, especially on himself. 

On the plus side, his skin wasn’t gray anymore. But the bruises that covered his body were still all sorts of interesting colors. He took his socks off and looked at his healthy toenails. They were a big contrast to his fingernails. He’d lost one the other night in the shower and had thrown up even though it hadn’t hurt. Having to pluck the dead nail from where it was hanging on by a thread was just wrong. 

Stiles stood up, rhythmically tightening and relaxing his fingers around his cane. He was considerably worried about loosing time and uniquely justified to be so. But he had to know what was going on, and somehow he knew the sunlight would help him understand. 

Feeling rather self-conscious, Stiles walked into the window’s patch of light. A feeling of complete rightness came over him as he stood there. He shuffled around until he was facing into his room and sat down. Then moving himself into position, he lay down with his whole body in the light. 

He watched the dust motes floating above him, and took in how quiet everything was; how still everything had become.

Stiles could feel the sun on every inch of him. It was sinking into his pores, lighting up the dark spaces inside him. 

 

***

 

Stiles was standing in the preserve. He didn’t have his cane and didn’t need it. His legs were solid underneath him with none of the weakness he’d become used to. He also had on his favourite hoodie and a pair of jeans. It seemed his dream-self, curtesy of his superego, didn’t want to walk around in the forest while naked.

He looked to his right and choked out a surprised noise. There, through the trees, was the Nemeton. He could feel a wave of something pulsing out from the stump. It moved like a heartbeat and Stiles swore he could hear it too. 

Thump thump thump. 

Each thump was pushing the power in and out like the Nemeton was breathing.

Stiles swallowed nervously, and looked around.

Coming out of winter, the earth was still hard but the snow had turned the ground cover to mush in places. There were evergreen trees further off, but where Stiles was the trees had bare branches and the sunlight shining through gave everything a sepia photo tint. There was also a distinct electric charge running through the air, separate to the Nemeton's pulsing beat, like everything around him was vibrating on a level different to normal. 

Stiles jumped in shock at the laughter that came out of nowhere.

It was light and airy with a masculine undertone. It swept around him, dipping and pitching. A swirling mist started to appear, lying just above the ground not far from his feet. It slowly coalesced into a more substantial shape, twisting in on itself until it had grown to almost head height. Stiles was certain there was someone hiding inside it.

The laughter stopped and a poignant silence settled.

Never one to back down, especially when scared, Stiles asked the shape, “Who are you?”

“We are whatever we wish to be,” a voice whispered right into his ear, and he flinched, rubbing the side of his head on his shoulder to get rid of the tingling feeling that followed.

A stroke of something unseen ran down his cheek like a caress, and the laughter came again. The shape hadn't moved closer, but Stiles was certain the touch was from it.

A shiver crept up his spine and made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“We like you, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles.”

“Yeah?” Stiles crossed his arms over himself. “Why don’t you explain what’s going on then?”

“There are many things going on, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles,” the whisper sighed, and the mist shape swayed from side to side. “The wind is blowing in the top most leaves. The sun is being covered by cloud. The Tree is crying for a hand to heal it. And roots are pawing through the earth to find a heart.” The shape stopped swaying though the mist continued to swirl. “Ask your questions. We will answer you.”

“Not understandably though,” Stiles counted. “The tree?”

He shot his eyes over to the Nemeton. Why did it always come back to that damn stump?

“Yes. The Tree. The Tree is withering. It is searching. It called for us but we will not help it.”

“Why are you here, then?”

“We found you, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles.”

“Me?” Stiles wanted to run. But he also wanted to understand and that need overruled his flight response.

“We saw your spirit, we saw your spark. We saw your courage and your manipulations. We saw you breathing fire, we saw you crying rain. We saw everything there is about you.”

“Okay, creeper much? And?”

“And we choose you, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles.”

Stiles swallowed around the lump forming in his throat. “Chose me?”

“Yes!” 

The shape flowed forward, and Stiles stumbled back onto the ground. He stared up at the shape as it floate closer.

“Why?” He was leaning back on his elbows but couldn’t make himself scramble away.

“We saw you.”

“You saw me,” Stiles paused. “And you chose me.” He took a deep breath. “For what?”

“Because we want you.” 

There was the feeling of being touched again, but this time it ran from the top of his head all the way down his chest, over his groin, causing an unwelcome twitch, and down to his toes. It was cool and possessive like he’d just been marked for ownership. He felt violated.

“Hey! No bad touches! My person is my own! This is a triangle of no-go! Hands or whatever off the body!”

This time he managed to shuffle backwards. He hit the roots of a tree and backed up until he was against its trunk. 

The laughter came again. “You will want us to touch you, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles.”

Stiles shook his head, vehemently.

“You will want us to be close to you. You will want us to fill you up. You will want us.”

“No way, never in a million years!” Stiles ignored the twisted jolt he felt at the whispered words.

“Yes, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles. Yes.”

Stiles was ready for this to be over now. “Wake up, wake up, wake up!” he called out to himself. He rubbed at his eyes and looked up. 

The shape was gone. 

Stiles quickly pushed himself up the tree trunk until he was standing. He stepped over the tree’s roots and turned around warily. His eyes stopped on the Nemeton.

The heartbeat was still pulsing power, and Stiles swore it was closer this time as if reaching for him. 

Like the Nemeton saw him. 

Stiles turned and ran.

 

***

 

Stiles gasped as he opened his eyes. He rolled over onto his side and started to dry heave. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God!” 

He screwed his eyes shut and then blinked them again. He was still in the sunlight and got up as fast as he could to crawl out of it. He sat himself in the corner next to the shelves, as far away from both windows as he could get. 

“Holy fuck!” 

He needed a shower. He felt dirty and scared and worried.

His cane was near the sunlight patch, so Stiles moved slowly and reached for it by lying on his stomach. He griped the end and pulled it back to him, sitting up and breathing hard.

He couldn’t take his eyes off the light as he wobbled to his feet. He shuffled backwards and edged out of the door and crept down the hallway to the bathroom, still looking behind himself. 

It wasn’t until he had the door to the bathroom closed, the window blind shut, and was sitting under the hottest water he could stand that Stiles turned his full attention to what his body was telling him. 

He lay down on his side, with his head out of the shower stall and shook and shook while his vision swam and he couldn’t breathe.

 

***

 

When Stiles finally surfaced from his panic attack, he was depleted and his chest ached. He had a killer headache and black dots danced before his eyes when he lifted his head. It took him a long while to sit up enough to reach the shower tap and turn off the water, which was running cold. His dad was going to hit the roof when he got the next water bill. He managed to grab a towel from the rack and dry himself while lying down. He pulled the towel around his hips and lay on the floor of the bathroom. 

The sunlight meditation or dream, or whatever the hell that was, had seriously scared the bejesus out of him. He raised a hand above his face and noted the slight tremor in it. He sighed and shivered. He was quite cold.

Stiles groaned and rolled over onto his side. He managed to get himself up on his hands and knees and crawled slowly out of the bathroom and down the hall to his room. He dragged his cane with him. He was so thankful that his dad had not been around to witness the dive into stupid he’d just done. Or the subsequent panic attack, or crawl of shame.

He was surprised to find there was an afternoon glow in the sky when he got to his room. He’d been out of it for a long time in the bathroom it seemed. Plus, he had no idea how long his mediation had lasted. Stiles pulled himself up onto his feet and held on to both his cane and the doorframe. He took a careful step into his room. He kept going until he stood by the window shade. He pulled it down until his room was dim and all the direct sunlight from the day was gone. 

He turned on his bedside lamp. Then he found some sweat pants and an old favourite shirt. He put them on and curled up on his bed, covered in blankets. 

 

***

 

Stiles had forgotten about the movie night. He'd been sleeping on and off, waking from bad dreams, until his phone rang near his ear on the bedside table. It was new, a gift from his dad. 

He groggily answered it. “Wha?”

“Stiles? Are you okay?” It was Lydia.

“Mmmm,” he answered and pushed his face into his pillow. He’d dozed through phone calls before, he could do it again.

There was mumbled conversation on the other end and Scott got on. “Stiles, I’m coming inside. You in your room?”

Stiles nodded his head once.

“Stiles?”

“Uh?”

“I’m coming in.”

Stiles was sinking further into sleep when Scott pushed open the door to his bedroom. He was panting a bit with adrenalin, but calmed down as he walked over and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Stiles? Are you okay?”

There was nothing but concern in his voice, so Stiles accepted he needed to open his eyes. His bedside lamp was still on from before and it cast a dim glow over his room.

“Yeah. Just sleeping.”

“Thank God.” Scott scowled at him. “You just about gave us heart attacks, man!” He raised his voice and turned his head toward the door, “He was just sleeping. Give us a sec.”

“Who else is here?” Stiles asked.

“Lydia. She called you when no one answered the door. I turned up just as she did. Malia and Kira are on their way. Liam, Hayden, and Mason, will be a bit longer.”

Stiles looked at him in confusion. 

“The movie night? Stiles, are you sure you’re okay?” Scott placed his hand on Stiles’ forehead. 

Stiles pushed it away. “I’m fine.” He sat up and lay back against the bedhead, disguising slight dizziness with a yawn and arm stretch. 

Scott was still watching him, worried. “You want to go back to sleep? We can do this another time, you know.”

Stiles smiled, because Scott’s concern was genuine and heartfelt and Stiles loved that he had a friend who cared. Better than anything else was the fact it was Scott, because Stiles would always remember what it was like when he believed he’d lost the right to that forever.

“Nah, man. I’m just a little spent. Give me a hand and we’ll make this movie night one to remember. You bought food, right? Because I’m good for fruit and water but apart from that there’s nothing.” 

Stiles made grabby hands at Scott who smiled and helped him up. There was only a little vertigo which he ignored, picking up his cane from where it rested against his bedside table. He waved it towards the doorway as Scott held onto his other arm. 

“Let’s get this party started!”

 

***

 

Stiles was regretting movie night halfway through the first movie. He was still so very tired, but he dared not fall asleep.

Lydia hadn’t been impressed when she'd seen him, and checked his pupils and even his tongue to make sure he wasn’t getting sick. When he’d joked about getting sicker, not sick, she’d flicked his arm with a fingernail and told him not to make light of his situation so soon after everything. 

It probably would have ended there, but Malia had just arrived, and asked, “Joke about what too soon?” 

And he’d answered, “My almost demise.”

Stiles could admit he was a real ass at times, especially when he was tired.

Lydia had glared at him. “Not funny, Stiles!” She’d then ignored him, continuing even after Liam and Mason had arrived.

Apparently Hayden couldn’t make it because of a surprise dinner with her sister. Liam had been a bit bummed at first, but Scott and Mason soon had him laughing at an in-joke Stiles didn’t get.

Kira had turned up not much later, bringing a range of Japanese snack foods in the brightest packaging Stiles had ever seen, blushing and saying her dad had sent them over. Stiles was excited to try them and was going to ignore his nutrition plan, so he could partake in all the chemical weirdness of a foreign country. 

Malia and Kira had started a conversation about the last class they’d had that day, and how much their teacher sucked for giving them a weekend essay, while they made a ton of popcorn for everyone and placed it in several bowls.

Their camaraderie in the face of weekend-homework-horror ended when Malia had put ketchup and tabasco sauce on her popcorn. 

She’d shrugged, unrepentant, at Kira’s exclamation of horror.

“More for me,” she said and placed a huge handful in her mouth.

Kira had fake-gagged, and Malia had opened her mouth to show her.

Just before everyone had finished getting their snacks and drinks together, Stiles had shot Scott a look and tilted his head towards Lydia who had moved to the living room.

Scott nodded, and managed to get everyone into a conversation when he asked what they thought of a new teacher who had started at their school a few weeks back.

Stiles had given him a grateful smile, and followed Lydia.

Lydia was staring at her phone, a tight frown pulling at her features. Stiles was pretty sure the frown was for him, not whatever she was looking at. 

He'd crawled onto the couch next to her, put his arm around her shoulder and whispered in her ear, “I’m sorry. It wasn’t funny.”

“No, it wasn’t,” she’d agreed, dropping her phone in her bag.

“Thank you, for saving me."

She turned to look at him. “You're welcome.”

She’d leant over and kissed his cheek, and he’d known he was forgiven. 

Fast forward a quarter of an hour or so; during which time an argument occurred about which movie to watch, a subsequent scuffle until a coin toss had been agreed upon, everyone settling into comfortable places, and the movie starting, and it all left Stiles feeling every inch of his fatigue and wishing he was in bed, no matter that he loved having everyone over.

He blinked wide and stifled a yawn. Lydia tutted a little from her position next to him on the couch but pretended not to notice when he glanced her way. Stiles turned back to the movie. He didn’t even know what they were watching. It was familiar but also not. He actively watched it for a bit before he worked out it was the remake to Point Break. 

He groaned out loud, “Seriously, Mason?” 

Mason had won the coin toss and had first choice. He looked back at Stiles from his position on the floor. 

Stiles shook his head. “Man, the original is a classic! Watching the remake is like spitting on everything good about a surfer cum bank heist cum bro movie!”

He blinked when everyone laughed at his comment.

“What?”

“Dude, you backed Mason’s choice! You were his second!” Scott guffawed.

“I did?” Stiles did not remember that. “No way, I wouldn’t!” 

Scott laughed even harder, and Liam was grinning like an idiot. 

“You totally did, Stiles,” he said, “You said, and I quote: ‘That movie is the bomb!’“

Scott rolled off the couch and onto the floor.

That was a bit of an over-reaction, and Stiles smirked in satisfaction when Malia hit Scott in the leg when he bumped into her. But she was laughing at Stiles too, and nodded her head at him.

“No! Now I know you’re making that up! There’s is no way.” Stiles frowned to himself while everyone cracked up again. “Maybe I did?” he ventured, and Lydia snorted beside him. He flicked her a wounded look. “But I didn’t mean it. I plead to being physically tired, so any crappy judgements I make about any movie can not be held against me!”

“Well, in that case, you forfeit your right to choose one for the night!” Kira exclaimed. She leant over from her position on the couch and high-fived Mason. 

Stiles was affronted and it showed, because everyone started laughing again.

“I feel like I’ve been set up,” he muttered darkly and narrowed his eyes at Kira. “You I will watch, for you have proven yourself to be masterful.”

He pointed two fingers at his eyes and turned them on her.

She giggled and threw a chip at him.

 

***

 

Stiles fell asleep before the movie ended. Another movie was playing softly when he woke up some time later. He was laying down and there was a pillow under his head and a blanket covering him. He was about to turn over and sleep some more, when he heard the pack talking about him. He tried to open his eyes, but was still so tired that he slipped back into a semi-doze. 

“He’s looking better, isn’t he?” Kira observed.

“Yeah. He’s not as zombie-like now. But he still looks so tired and depressed,” Malia answered.

“Something’s bothering him,” Lydia mused. Stiles felt her hand brush over his forehead.

“You mean like the fact he was kidnapped and tortured and almost killed?” Mason said dryly.

“No. Yes, of course. But not just that,” Lydia sighed.

“I agree,” said Scott. “There’s something else. He feels different.”

“You mean through the pack bond?” Liam was curious. “I can’t feel it.”

“Yeah, the bond, but I wouldn’t expect you to. It’s mainly just because I’ve known him all my life. I mean, of course he’s going to be changed after what happened, but it’s not that.” Scott sighed. “I’m not explaining myself very well.”

Stiles managed to open his eyes for a bit before they shut again. 

“Shh. He’s waking up,” Kira said. 

But Stiles was slipping further into sleep.

 

***

 

He was pleading, but the man was ignoring him.

Stiles had given up on threats and bargaining his way out. While he could still talk he was trying to reason with the man to just let him go. He wouldn’t tell anyone anything if only he was allowed to leave. 

It filled Stiles with a sense of shame to be reduced to begging, but he was loosing his voice and his ability to walk. Time was running out.

“Shut up.” The man squatted down to look at him where he sagged against the cell wall. The man shook his head, “Let me explain this again. You’re not leaving. At least, not alive. It’s important that you die. Do you get it, yet? Do I need to spell it out for you? You need to die!”

Stiles turned his head away, and asked wearily, “Why?”

“Because you are fae filth! You can try to hide it with your glamours, but I see you!”

“I’m not fae,” Stiles told him.

He’d told him before. He wasn’t sure why the man was so adamant about something that was so very wrong.

“Don’t give me that! The iron is poisoning you just like I said.” 

The man gestured to the band around his neck, and Stiles conceded quietly to himself that it burned him with cold and made him feel nauseous and scared.

“You keep telling me you’re not, but it’s all just fae trickery. I know how you warp your words and mislead with truths that sound like lies and lies that sound like truths! You won’t leave by such means. You will not use your magic and disappear either. I have made certain of it.” The man punctuated his speech by waving his hand around.

It was a fairly large cell, for which Stiles had been grateful, because after his vomiting spree the man had not cleaned up apart from wiping down the floor with some towels. It was still pretty rank over in that area, so Stiles had edged away as far as he could. He couldn’t smell it anymore, but he had to be stinking just as bad. The man hadn’t even given him any water to wash out his mouth. The taste had been foul and Stiles had used spit to clean up best he could.

Going to the toilet had been better. The man had given him a bucket and toilet paper at least, which he’d removed after Stiles had finished. With no food or water given to him, Stiles hadn’t needed it again after the first day.

There were a set of tiny windows, up high near the ceiling. The light ran across the celling but never ventured lower than a foot down the walls. Being winter there was a chill in the air, and Stiles’ skin goose-bumped from contact with the floor and walls.

“The walls and ceiling are steal, not as strong as pure iron but it has enough in it that you can’t leave while you’re weak. The door is reinforced with it too. The floor is iron aggregate concrete. You are enclosed by the very metal that is deadly to you and your kin!” The man stared Stiles right in the eye. “You struggle to live but ultimately you will fail. Your death will help me, so no, you’re not leaving. Stop asking.”

Stiles watched the man stand up and leave through the door. It shut with a quiet snick, and he was alone again.

 

***

 

Stiles was breathing heavier than normal when he woke up and it took him a minute to place where he was. 

“Hey, bro,” Scott said soothingly to Stiles when he flicked a glance at him. “You’re good. You’re safe. You’re at home.”

Stiles struggled to sit up and backed himself into the corner of the couch. The blanket twisted around his legs. Everyone was looking at him and he wanted them to leave. He pulled his legs up, put his face on his knees, and wrapped his arms around himself.

Lydia stood up from where she’d been crouched beside him on the floor. “Okay, movie night’s over. It’s late, so we should go.”

There were murmurs as the pack said quiet goodbyes to Stiles, which he ignored. Lydia dropped a kiss on his head which had him sinking further into the couch. There was more soft talking near the front door and then it opened, letting in a blast of cold air. Then it closed and there was wonderful quiet. 

Stiles tentatively lifted his head. Scott was watching him in concern. He held a hand out low, and walked towards him slowly. 

Stiles had to snort. “I’m not a wounded animal, Scott."

Scott dropped his hand and looked a bit sheepish. “Well, you can’t really blame me.”

Stiles had started shivering, and Scott placed a hand on his bent knee. The warm comforting feeling flowed into him, just like at the hospital, and he had to ask, “Can you give warmth like you take pain? Is that a new wolf thing?”

Scott shook his head and laughed a little, “No. Why?”

“Oh. Well, it’s just that. You’re very warm.” Stiles winced at his explanation and tried to explain it better. “Every time you touch me lately, I feel this warmth on my skin. Even through blankets.” 

There was a look of confusion on Scott’s face, a hint of disbelief. 

“I’m not trying out some lame come-on line here, Scott. It’s what I feel.” He tried to twist away from Scott’s hand, but Scott moved with him so the warmth remained.

Scott had a slightly amused glint in his eye. “I didn’t think you were. Besides, we both know who you really like.” He ignored Stiles’ intake of breath. “But what ever it is, maybe it’s a good thing. You need some comfort and warmth right now. If you can get that from me, it’s all good.”

Scott gently tugged the blanket from around Stiles’ legs. Retrieving his cane, Scott handed it to him and helped him stand up. 

Holding onto Stiles’ shoulders Scott said, “Now, we’re going to get ready for bed, and then I’m going to hold you and give you all the warmth you need.”

Stiles waggled his eyebrows suggestively. He couldn’t help it. 

Scott turned a bit red. “In a strictly philia kind of way, which you already know, dumbass, and we’re doing this because you need it. And so do I.”

“Philia? Still using your word-a-day dictionary, I see.” Stiles nodded and grinned. “Color me impressed.” 

“Bro, shut up, and let me help you to your room.” 

 

***

 

Stiles had to admit that lying in the warm embrace that was Scott in all his werewolf glory was absolute bliss. He had a line of heat all the way up his back and wrapped over his chest.

He was so glad that it didn’t invite any non-brotherly thoughts though, because he’d had trepidations about this course of action. Sure, they’d slept near each other loads of times, but Scott had never given him a full body hug in bed before and Stiles had worried it may set off some kind of reaction. 

Maybe he was still too sick for his body to respond like it usually would. He had to admit he hadn’t touched himself since he’d been kidnapped. Even picturing Derek didn’t have the normal physical reaction. 

He sighed, and Scott tightened his grip. He smirked a little evilly, then moaned and flexed. Then did it again. Just because he knew what would happen.

“Stop it, Stiles!” 

Stiles shook in quiet laughter, making Scott’s arm jump over him.

“Quit it! I swear, you’re worse than anyone I’ve ever met. Now stop it, and go to sleep!”

“You’ll still respect me in the morning though, right, Scott?”

“Stiles! Shut up!”

Stiles laughed some more. He was still smiling when he’d finally calmed down and closed his eyes. He rubbed a hand over Scott’s forearm. “Thanks, bro,” he whispered into his room.

“No worries. And Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll still respect you in the morning.”

 

***


	4. The Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone knows something is wrong. But Stiles still isn't telling.

Stiles woke in the early morning to Scott climbing over the top of him to get out of bed. “There’s coffee,” he mumbled, and promptly turned over and went back to sleep.

When he woke again, he found Scott had opened both his window shades and the sun was shining into his room. Stiles carefully got up and leaning against the wall, then the desk for balance, shut the shades until the room was once again in darkness. 

He was sitting on his bed, contemplating dragging himself to the bathroom when Scott came in. He went to pull up the shades again, and Stiles cried out, “No!”

At Scott’s shocked pause, Stiles cleared his throat, “I, um, I like the dark right now, okay?” 

Stiles hoped that didn’t sound as pathetic to Scott’s ears as it did to his own. But Scott, bless him, just smiled and shrugged. “No worries, man. Light hurting your eyes after your attack yesterday?”

Stiles looked blankly at Scott. He rubbed his palm over his cheek. “Nooo. Last night wasn’t too bad, actually.”

“What about the one you had before we got here?” 

Stiles stared at him.

Scott raised his eyebrows and gave an affronted snort. “Dude. I’ve seen what you’re like after a bad attack. It was obvious you’d had one.”

“Since when did you get all insightful?” Stiles bit out, then sighed. “Sorry. Here you’re being all Florence Nightingale and I’m being a dick. Sorry.”

Scott shrugged again. “No problem.” 

He sat on the bed and Stiles groaned internally because he was in for another talk. He hoped it went better than the one with his dad. 

Scott folded his hands in his lap then rubbed them on his knees.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Spit it out, dude. It’s not like I’m going anywhere in a hurry.”

“Are you okay? Your dad tells me there’s improvement —”

“Talking about me to my dad now, Scott?” Stiles was a little annoyed.

“No! Not like that,” Scott shook his head. “Don’t interrupt. You’ll make me forget and then I won’t say what I need to.”

Stiles waved a hand. “Well, far be it for me to de-rail your train of thought.”

Scott scowled at him while Stiles looked back innocently. 

“Stiles. What’s going on?”

Stiles was silent. There were many things going on.

We choose you, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles.

Scott exhaled, “Like just then, bro. What’s going on with you? You’re obviously worried about something. You’re not talking to any of us about it. Are you having nightmares about what happened?”

Stiles picked at the lint on his bed. “Sometimes.”

“Did you have one last night?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his hands over his head. “The others must think I’m a nut case.”

“No. We’re just worried about you.”

“I don’t need to go back to Eichen House?” he said, only half-joking.

“God, no! Stiles, don’t even say that. Remember what everyone’s been through. We’re not judging you. We all have stuff that’s nightmare-worthy.”

“Unfortunately true. Our lives, man.”

Scott sighed a little and shook his head. “Our lives,” he agreed. “Bro, you know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“Yeah, sure. I know that,” Stiles hedged.

“Talk to me.”

“About what?”

“About what changed. About why you’re different.” He held up a hand to stop Stiles interrupting. “It’s not about your abduction. Well, I guess it could be. But there’s something more and it was happening before that. Something’s going on.”

“What do you mean, something was happening before?” Stiles honestly didn’t know why Scott had said that.

“Stiles, you started acting different. More secretive. More, I don’t know. Not you.”

“I did?” Stiles reached out for his cane and tapped his fingers on the head of it.

Scott watched his hands until Stiles held them still. “Yeah.”

It made sense in a way, Stiles guessed. If he wasn’t human than it didn’t start with him being taken. In fact, the man had pretty much said it was the reason for it. He tried not to let too much of what he was feeling, show.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked.

“I didn’t know what was happening. Yeah, you seemed happy. But it was off.”

“Thanks, man, nice to know my happiness is cause for concern.”

“I’m all for you being happy, Stiles. It was just weird. I can’t explain it. And you feel different.”

“What?” Stiles shifted slightly, uneasily.

“I tried to tell the others what I meant, but I couldn’t get the words right.”

“You’ve spoken to the pack about this?”

“Sort of. Okay. You have a certain feel for me. If I had to put it in words it’s like what I feel when I’m around my mom, or your dad, but different, because it’s you.”

“Don’t stop using your calendar, Scott, because that was all sorts of unclear.”

Scott gave him an exasperated frown. “What I mean is; the feeling’s changed.”

“Changed how?”

“You started feeling like someone other than you.”

Stiles swallowed thickly. “Other?” He’d started tapping on his cane again at some point, and brought it up to rest along his legs where he could wrap his hands around it.

“Yeah. And don’t try to tell me there’s nothing going on. You know what I’m talking about.”

Stiles huffed in exasperation. “You’re talking about how I’ve changed, but I’m coping with a tone of anxiety right now because I was kidnapped and almost died!”

Scott gave him an unimpressed look.

Feeling pressed, Stiles narrowed his eyes, “Look, I don’t know what to tell you, okay?” Scott made a noise of disappointment, and Stiles cut him off. “No, it’s my turn to talk. I was in a good place before this all happened. For the first time in however long I felt happy and calm. I’m never calm, Scott. But that doesn’t make me a different person. Telling me that I’m other, or whatever, because I was happy isn’t that nice of you. In fact, it’s pretty shitty.”

“That’s not what I was —”

“Shut up.” He raised his voice. “I’m dealing with things that I can’t open up about, alright?” 

“Why not?” Scott flung his arms out wide and heaved in a breath. “Please, Stiles. You’re my brother. Let me help you.”

“You can’t! I can’t talk to you about this!” Stiles was worked up. He could feel tears gathering at the corners of his eyes and wiped them away angrily. 

“Why?” 

Scott sounded so defeated that Stiles’ anger disappeared to be replaced with a deep frustrated weariness.

He shook his head. “I don’t know.” He lay back on the bed, his cane rolling off his knees onto the floor, and put an arm over his face. “I don’t know.” 

The bed dipped as Scott lay down near him. For a while, there was no other sound but their joint breathing.

Scott cleared his throat. “Is there something wrong?”

Stiles slowly nodded, his arm still covering his face. 

Scott placed his hand atop Stiles’ other one where it lay on the bed. “Is there more than one thing wrong?” 

Stiles nodded again and focused on breathing and the feel of Scott’s hand over his.

“Are you having trouble dealing with the kidnapping?” 

Stiles shook his head.

Scott was silent again for a while. “Do you know what I’m talking about when I say you’ve changed?”

Stiles flinched and shifted his hand under Scott’s without meaning to.

“It’s okay, Stiles. Don’t answer that one. Just relax.”

Scott’s hand was warm and safe and Stiles wanted to roll over to be closer to him, and soak it up. He moved his arm away and turned his head to look at Scott.

Scott’s eyes travelled over his face, tracing the fading bruise lines. “Do you know why you were taken?” 

Stiles gave a startled intake of breath. No one had asked him that. Not his dad. Not Parrish. Not Dr. Geyer. Not Melissa. Not Lydia. No one. 

Until now.

He didn’t say anything, his heart hammering away in his chest answer enough.

Scott nodded. “You do. But why wouldn’t you tell us? Stiles, that kind of information could help your dad catch him!”

“It’s not important.”

“What do you mean? That’s stupid.”

“So the man took who me told me why. It’s over, it’s done. Leave it alone, it’s not important!” The idea of Scott finding out sent a shiver of fear through Stiles.

“It obviously is important! What are you hiding?”

“Nothing!”

Scott sat up and looked down at Stiles. “Don’t lie to me! Something is going on with you! Stiles, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me!” 

Stiles couldn’t do this. It felt wrong to talk to Scott about it. “I’m hungry.”

“You’re changing the subject, and not as subtly as you usually do. Is this a supernatural thing?”

Stiles sat up and bent over the edge of the bed, picking up his cane. “I’m really hungry. Seriously, I could go for some steak right now, I’m that hungry. But it’s not on my ‘safe food list’. I have to make do with porridge and a shake. Don’t tell my dad I said that thing about the steak. He’d never let me live it down. He’s finding this iron-reducing, weight-gain, nutrition-diet I’m on way too amusing for his own good.” He stood up and took a step then risked looking at Scott. “You coming?”

Scott scowled at him. He obviously wanted to keep going, keep asking questions. His eyes were worried, and what may have been fear lurked on the edges of his frown. 

It was possible those same emotions were reflected in Stiles’ own eyes.

Suddenly Scott deflated, his argumentative posture changing to one of defeat. “Yeah. Breakfast.” He cocked his head and ran his eyes over Stiles from head to foot, considering. “Then how do you feel about just chilling?”

Stiles sighed internally, immediately feeling better. “What day is it?” he asked.

“Saturday. Hence the movie night last night?”

“Oh, right.” Stiles took another step and wobbled.

Scott stood up and held out a hand. “You okay to walk?”

“Sure. I may be a cripple but I’m not an invalid.” He sent Scott a small smile.

Scott gave him one in return. “Yeah you are, man. By definition, both of those apply to you.” He clasped Stiles on the shoulder and walked out of the room.

Stiles tapped his cane on the floor a few times, biting his lip. He clenched both hands around the head of it until his fingers started tingling.

Shaking out one hand, then the other, he took himself to the bathroom. 

 

***

 

After breakfast, Stiles claimed the remote and turned the TV to weekend cartoons. Scott had readily agreed. 

Normally, cartoons were his thing, excellent for nuking his brain into mush. But he found he just couldn’t get into the flow of it. The colours were too brash, the movement on the screen jarring.

Scott was laughing and snorting his drink, but Stiles was only uncomfortable.

He was trying to get Scott to do something else with him, without having to explain how he was feeling, when Scott’s phone rang. 

Stiles shooed him away. “Answer it. I’m not hogging you.” 

Scott stood up to answer the call. He walked into the next room and Stiles immediately took the opportunity to turn the TV off. The sudden silence was golden. He closed his eyes and leant back on the couch. 

Scott returned just as Stiles was beginning to drift off. He had a concerned look on his face that Stiles was hoping wasn’t about him.

Scott sat back down on the couch. “That was Liam. Apparently Hayden is leaving.”

“Leaving?”

“Yep, as in moving away.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Yeah. That’s why she couldn’t make it last night. The dinner was so her sister could spring it on her and they could talk about it.” Scott rubbed at his chest with one hand.

“Thats a bit harsh. When’s she going?” Stiles watched Scott rub his chest a bit harder.

“Next week. Liam said they’re moving to Miami.”

“What?” Stiles didn’t know why that struck him as so weird. It was a place like any other. 

“Um. Yeah.” Scott lay back against the couch, his hand resting over his heart. 

“If you need to go, Scott, you can.”

“What? No, man. No.”

“Yes, Scott. Hayden’s part of your pack and she’s leaving. That’s gotta make you feel all kinds of wrong. Plus, Liam is your beta and I bet he’s pretty distressed right now. You can feel that, right?”  
Stiles gestured to where Scott had started rubbing his chest again. “Go. Deal with the pack bonds. Help Liam. Help Hayden. I’ll see you later.”

“You sure?”

“As sure as I can be.”

Scott was already texting on his phone as he stood up. “I’ll get someone to come spend time with you until your dad finishes his shift.” He got a slightly devious look on his face. “Someone should be here in the next hour.”

 

***

 

The knock on the door had Stiles hobbling over slowly to open it, expecting Lydia as he assumed Kira and Malia were busy fighting homework ghouls. Instead, he found himself staring at Derek, and trying not to swallow his tongue. 

Stiles had an intense flash of wanting to hit Scott with something big and hard, possibly his jeep, before he stammered out, “Hi.”

Derek was frowning, and looking at Stiles like he was reading him in a foreign language and needed to concentrate really hard. “Hey, Stiles.” 

Derek was wearing a very soft-looking jumper that Stiles imagined would feel nice under his hands. It fit Derek just right, and was a shade of blue that made Stiles’ gray plaid seem garish in comparison. He was also wearing a pair of faded jeans and beaten-up boots.

The entire effect made him look friendly and approachable. Possibly even huggable. 

Stiles liked it a lot.

“Umm. Do you want to come in?” He shuffled away from the door. 

The front hallway of Stiles’ home was small and even with him moving back as Derek stepped inside, they were close enough for him to catch a scent that made him pause. He’d forgotten what Derek smelled like, but smelling it again fired off a dozen memories in his mind. 

His knees felt a bit weak. 

And he was being a moron.

“Do you want a drink?” he choked out, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. His other hand tightened on his cane. 

The cane had become a calming tick in times of stress and Stiles wasn’t sure what he’d do when he could go without its support. Maybe he’d just keep it and he could walk around looking like a Bond villain. He would rock a top hat and Christopher Walken was like a god, so …

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?” Stiles could kick himself for mentally checking out.

Derek took a step towards him and Stiles prided himself on the fact he didn’t stumble backwards. It may have had something to do with him leaning on the wall already, but that was neither here nor there.

Derek reached out and touched Stiles' arm, carefully, like he may break. Or bolt. Which would be a distinct possibility if he was faster than a sloth, which he currently wasn’t.

“Stiles. Are you okay?” 

“Why do you care?” As soon as he said it, Stiles wanted to take it back. 

Derek’s face closed off, the concern becoming a blank mask. He dropped his hand.

“No! God, Derek, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” Stiles needed that hand back on him. “I’m being a jerk to everyone lately. I’m sorry. I’m tired and I guess a little rattled that you’re actually here.”

Derek stared at him for a moment, not helping Stiles’ emotions one bit. “Scott told you I was in town, right?” 

“Um, yeah. I meant here, in my house.”

“He didn’t tell you I was coming over?” Derek’s frown grew more pronounced.

“No.”

Derek looked away. “I can go, if you’d like?”

“No!” Stiles tried not to react too strongly against the idea. “It’s fine. Please. Stay.” 

"If you're sure?" 

"I am. Really," Stiles stressed.

He was going to unleash epic retribution on Scott for this. 

Derek motioned to the living room. “Go sit down and I’ll get us some drinks.” He walked away, through the living room to the kitchen, leaving Stiles in the entranceway. 

Stiles stood still, his brain whirling as it configured itself to this new reality he suddenly found himself in. Derek's easy manner was confounding until he remembered while he'd been missing, Derek had spent a lot of time in his house. Picturing it made Stiles feel distinctly weird.

Then he quickly hobbled to the couch, where he sat crossed legged, grabbed his phone and texted furiously to Scott.

\- So Derek is at my place. 

Scott answered almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting for Stiles to text him. 

\- I told you I would get someone to spend time with you.

Stiles scowled.

\- But Derek? What were you thinking?

Scott answered after a little bit.

\- That you want to spend time with him, but are too chicken to do anything about it. 

Stiles spluttered, his face and neck heating up. “What? Why?” he couldn’t help but whine. He jabbed at his phone like it had personally wounded him.

\- My revenge will be heavy, Scott! Like a mountain! Like a mountain on top of a mountain. There will be landslides! People will have to evacuate to escape my revenge!

Scott sent a laughing smilie face.

\- You’re welcome.

Stiles threw his phone onto the nearby table in disgust.

A little while later Derek walked into the room with a water in one hand and a tea in the other. He settled onto the couch next to Stiles. 

Stiles glanced questioningly at the tea he was handed. It was either that, or explore the myriad ways he wanted to panic about the fact that Derek’s thigh was brushing against his knee. 

Derek gave an apologetic smile, which had Stiles trying to control the flutterings in his stomach, and took a sip of his water. “Your dad mentioned that you were on a strict nutrition program. I found the list on the fridge. It said tea was recommended.”

“Is everyone talking to my dad about me?” Stiles threw a hand up in the air. 

Derek looked at him in confusion. 

Stiles rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Scott just mentioned that he’d been talking to my dad and I’m feeling like a fish in a very clear bowl.”

“Everyone watching your every move.” Derek nodded, his tone indicating that he understood. “Laura did the same thing after the fire. She spoke to councillors and even friends about me.” 

Stiles sat there, with his mouth open a little, as Derek casually mentioned his dead sister and the fire. He took a sip of tea to cover his look of surprise.

Derek had changed. He’d been doing better before he’d left, but now Stiles could see it in his posture, hear it in his words, watch it play out on his face as it remained open and guilt free. Derek was in a good place.

Stiles was happy for him. 

His heart may have also fallen a little bit more into Derek-is-the-best-ever territory. It sped up to let Stiles know.

Derek must have heard Stiles’ change in heartbeat but he didn’t react. Instead he turned his body until they were facing each other, knees and shins touching. “So I’ve got something to say, and you need to be quiet to let me say it,” Derek began.

“Holy God, did you and Scott compare notes?” 

“Stiles —”

“No seriously! He said the same thing this morning!”

“Quite probably because there are things that need saying and you’re very good at changing the subject when you don’t want to hear them!”

Stiles mimed locking his mouth and putting the key on Derek’s knee. That slight touch and Stiles was thankful his dick was having extended vacation time and wasn’t taking messages, otherwise things would have started to get awkward.

Derek picked up Stiles' free hand. Stiles swallowed a mouthful of tea and forced himself to take another so he wouldn't say anything. Derek stroked his knuckles and turned his hand over to do the same down his palm. It tickled a bit and Stiles' fingers flexed. 

Derek frowned and pulled his hand closer. “You’re loosing your fingernails.”

Stiles tried to remove his hand from Derek’s grasp but it wasn’t happening. “Ah, yeah. They all died and are falling out. They’ll grow back, I’ve been told.”

“I had a similar thing happen to me, once,” Derek admitted. “My nails came in almost immediately, but I didn’t want to watch it happening.” He shot Stiles an understanding glance.

“Yeah. Me too. Makes me want to be sick. Not so bad when they’re gone, but the falling out bit is just wrong.”

“They need to be removed. Did you know?”

“Maybe.”

“Would it be okay if I helped?”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Are you seriously asking for permission to yank out my fingernails? This is some weird thing you got going on, isn’t it? Are you planning on using them for some kind of wolf magic?”

“No. Although I know a place that would buy them.”

“Seriously?”

“No,” scoffed Derek. “But they could catch on something and tear. They’re lifting right off of the nail bed. They’ll hurt if they get caught, maybe even bleed.”

Stiles gagged. “Okay, fine! You can do it! Just don’t talk about it!”

Derek snickered and, while Stiles looked anywhere else, methodically went over his hand. There were tugging sensations and Stiles wordlessly placed his other hand in Derek’s when he motioned for it. More tugging and then Derek was rubbing his fingers over Stiles’ palm again. “All done.” He uncurled his legs. “I’ll be right back.” He went into the kitchen.

Stiles heard the distinct sound of the bin opening and closing. He bit back bile.

Derek came back and settled into the same position as before.

Stiles circumspectly checked his fingers and had to admit that they looked less repulsive now the dead nails were gone. He was left with indented skin and tiny little fresh nail protrusions in some places. 

Derek caught him looking and asked, “Better?”

“Yeah, thanks. That was disgusting, don’t get me wrong, and I’ll throw up later, but thanks all the same.” He placed his mug on the table. Then he sat there and waited.

The corner of Derek’s mouth twitched a little over the rim of his glass as he took a sip. “What?” 

“You said you had something to say.”

Derek looked surprised for a second. “I forgot. It’s been a while since I sat with someone. I guess I got comfortable.”

Stiles watched a subtle reddening travel up Derek’s neck under his throat and squashed the impulse to lean over and place his mouth where Derek’s jaw started near his ear. He brought up one of his knees and lent his chin on it. “That’s what pack’s about, right? Giving and receiving comfort? Among other things, of course.” 

“Is that how you see us? As pack?” Derek glanced at Stiles.

“Well, yeah? Isn’t that what Scott and you were working on?” 

“What?” 

Stiles frowned. Had he remembered the conversation wrong? 

“Scott mentioned that he asked you to stay, to be pack. I know there’s been difficulties with this between you two, history and all that, but it would be good for you both.”

“What about you, Stiles? Would it be good for you?” Derek lent in, his gaze intensifying.

“Of course it’s good for me! I mean, it would be good for all of us. We missed you. I missed you.” Stiles was annoyed he’d said the last part, but he could brush it off as one friend missing another.

Derek was quiet as he watched Stiles rub at the couch with a finger. “I missed you, too.” he said eventually. “It means a lot that you’re okay with me being here."

Stiles looked up quickly. "Of course I am! Why wouldn't I be?"

Derek didn't answer, though he seemed to relax at hearing Stiles say it. "Being pack is not the only reason why I'm here," he said instead. "Scott and I had a talk. He brought certain things to my attention and made me see that if I left, I’d regret it.”

“I’m sensing he must have said something truly astounding. What was it?" 

Derek grew quiet again before saying casually, “Just things. He put them right out there.”

“Ah, the in-your-face touch," Stiles nodded sagely, "Yeah, been on the receiving end of that myself. He only uses it when things are pretty important though. It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me. I know how it is to want things to stay in-house.” Stiles really wanted Derek to tell him, the curiosity was burning inside, but what he said was true. People pressing him for answers was something he hated.

Derek leant against the couch with an appreciative smile. “I may tell you at some time,” he said. “If you’re good.”

Stiles snorted. “I would say I’m always good, but you, and I, and everyone at the police station knows how much of a lie that would be." 

Derek chuckled. "I may have some idea."

Stiles held up a finger to make a point, “But I accept your challenge! You won’t know what hit you, but at some point you’ll find yourself in the unique situation of having me as your personal confidant. You’ll tell me all your secrets because to not do so will feel so wrong that you couldn’t even fathom not sharing your every waking thought with me.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. "You really think so?" he said dryly, but his mouth betrayed him by curling up in a smile he couldn't fully hide.

“So say I, so will it be,” Stiles intoned gravely. 

He then ruined the moment by picking up his mug, taking a sip of tea and getting it up his nose. It caused him to choke and his eyes to water and he almost fell of the couch. 

Derek laughed loudly at Stiles’ predicament after checking to make sure he was relatively okay.

Stiles didn’t know if he should be embarrassed, or to smile and feel proud that he’d made Derek laugh like that. 

 

***

 

Stiles' dad got home around midday, pausing at Derek and Stiles talking on the couch. He shook his head and took off his jacket, smiling to himself over something. “Derek,” he nodded.

“Noah,” Derek replied and held up his hand over the arm of the couch. 

Stiles raised his eyebrows as his dad clasped Derek’s hand, the familiarity of the gesture suggesting it occurred often. Just like Derek knowing where things were in the kitchen, this action made Stiles aware all over again how much he'd missed recently. It made him feel despondent. 

Derek put his hand on Stiles’ shin, just above his ankle. His heart did little pitter patters, which was a bit much as it had hours to get acquainted with the constant touching Derek apparently wanted to do now. Touches that caused Stiles to shiver and lean into them before he caught himself. 

Derek mouthed, “You okay?” as Stiles’ dad went to his room. 

Stiles nodded and rested his hand on Derek’s because, hell yeah, he’d been touching back. How could he not when Derek was being friendly and open and Stiles wanted so badly? 

This was a chance to be near Derek, to spend time with him, to strengthen their friendship. The touching was a bonus Stiles never thought he’d get. He couldn’t help but press his leg against Derek or touch his shoulder. He was in constant disbelief that Derek allowed it.

Stiles had come to the very fast conclusion that pack bonding was the best and wanted to berate Scott for apparently holding out on him with this information. Although, he wasn’t so sure how to go about that without admitting to Scott that he’d done a good thing by getting Derek to come over. 

He would have to postpone his revenge indefinitely.

Derek pressed his hand harder into Stiles’ leg, getting him to focus again. “Are you feeling tired?”

“No. Just thinking,” Stiles admitted.

“About whatever is bothering you?”

Stiles sat back.

Derek frowned. “You don't have to tell me what it is. But I know there’s something.”

“You been talking to my dad about that too?” Stiles couldn’t help but ask, somewhat petulantly.

“No. I know what trauma does to a person, but I also know that what I’ve been noticing today is something else. You’re different. Your scent is off. It’s not how I remember it.”

“Well, you’re just a veritable fountain of knowledge, aren’t you? Maybe my scent is the same and you never learnt it that well to begin with!”

Derek let go of Stiles’ leg. “I’ve known your scent from the moment I met you and Scott in the woods. People’s scents change through age, sickness, and life events, but the basic nature of it stays the same. Your’s has something added to it that doesn’t come from any of that. Stiles, I know the smell of supernatural, even if Scott doesn’t.”

“Did Scott talk to you about this morning?” Stiles tapped his fingers on his knee. “Did he tell you I don’t want to talk about this?” 

That was both of them now, Scott and Derek, saying that Stiles was different, that he’d changed.

He had to believe it then, didn’t he? Derek had even come out and said it. Supernatural.

Not human.

“Stiles, I want to help you.”

“You can’t. None of you can.” Stiles was certain. It was wrong to be talking about this. He had to stop. “You need to leave now.” He grabbed his cane and pushed up onto his feet so he was standing over Derek. “Get out of my house.”

Derek stood, and was in his space before Stiles could blink. “Dammit, Stiles! Don’t do that.”

Stiles didn’t want to. He wanted Derek to stay. But he needed Derek to stop pushing, and Derek was stubborn like a mule when he wanted to be. He wasn’t going to stop his questioning. And it was making things difficult; Stiles was edgy and angry, and this wasn’t right. None of it was.

How come he couldn’t tell anyone about the scary-absolutely-terrifying news that he’d been chosen by something for some reason? That there was a very good chance he wasn’t human anymore?

Stiles started to shake and he was so sick of his body’s inability to deal. He clutched at Derek, his cane falling to the floor. Derek grabbed him before he fell, and Stiles just shook and shook. 

He had the vague thought that his dad had come back into the room, but when he raised his head from where he’d pressed his face into Derek’s chest, his dad wasn’t there. 

“Derek?” he whispered. “Help me?”

 

***

 

Derek had gotten Stiles to the kitchen and he’d sat as Derek wet a paper towel and gently wiped his face and neck. The water was cool against his skin. 

His dad was watching him with deep concern. 

Derek picked up Stiles' slack hand from off the kitchen table and held it between both of his. 

Stiles’ dad didn't even raise an eyebrow at that but considering his son was behaving like he was a few steps closer to a mental breakdown again, Stiles guessed a little hand holding with an older guy was not cause for concern right at that moment. 

Or at all maybe. 

Maybe Scott and his dad had spoken to each other about more than just how he was coping. Maybe Scott had spilled the beans. Maybe his dad had guessed. 

His dad cleared his throat. “Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“You okay to talk?”

“About what?”

Derek and his dad shared a quick look. “About what just happened?”

“What just happened,” he intoned back. 

Everything was moving like syrup in his brain. He was in a cotton-wool world where everything was muted and dull. He hated this world; it made his jaw hurt from clenching his teeth and not being able to stop.

Stiles blinked slowly. His eyes rolled up. His head felt heavy on his neck.

“Stiles?”

“Lie him down, Derek.”

Something touched him and he flinched violently before Derek’s face filled his vision. He was moving and looked up at the kitchen ceiling in confusion. Derek was squeezing his hands and talking to him.

“Derek?”

“I’m here, Stiles. Can you time your breathing? In, out, in, out.”

Stiles took shaky gasps and couldn’t really follow Derek’s instructions. He could feel his heart in his ears.

“Your dad’s talking to Melissa. Breathe.”

Lately, everyone was telling him to just keep breathing. It was like they thought he’d forget. 

Stiles started shivering and blankets were quickly wrapped around him. His feet were raised and placed on pillows. 

“Stiles, don’t close you eyes. Stiles …”

 

***

 

Stiles woke up and found himself in his bed. He was being held by Derek who was an even better hot water bottle than Scott. He was tucked up under Derek’s arm, his face pressed against Derek’s chest. It could quickly become a favourite position. 

Stiles stretched his legs and almost groaned but bit it back. One thing to do it as a joke, quite another to do it when he meant it.

Wait. Why was he in bed?

“Stiles?” Derek was looking at him. “How are you feeling?”

“What happened?” Stiles asked. He pulled back a bit from Derek in order to look at him properly.

“You went into shock.”

“Oh.” 

That was something he’d gone through after Allison’s funeral. It had scared his dad to no end. 

“I’m not in hospital, though. Not that I want to be.” 

“No. Melissa checked you over. You were fine to sleep it off as long as I monitored you.”

Stiles went to move and Derek’s arm held him back. Stiles gave a small tired smile. “Relax, I’m not going to break.” He ignored Derek’s frown and pushed himself up into a semi-reclined position with his head and shoulders against the bedhead, his pillow propping him up. Then he waited for Derek to speak. It took him a while to work out Derek was doing the same, waiting for him. 

“So, I guess you want to know what that was about."

“I wouldn’t mind. But I want to make sure you’re feeling okay first.” 

Stiles bumped his shoulder into Derek’s, acknowledging his concern. "I'm good."

“You okay if I call Melissa in to check you?”

“She’s still here?”

“Yeah, you actually haven’t been asleep for that long. And she was checking on you periodically.”

“I feel special.”

It was Derek’s turn to nudge his arm into Stiles. “Behave. We’re worried about you.” He started to slide off the bed to fetch Melissa.

Stiles grabbed Derek’s arm before he moved too far. “Derek.”

Derek raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing. Just waited.

Stiles swallowed. “I wanted to say thank you. For coming back and finding me. You saved my life.”

Derek put his hand over Stiles’ where it still rested on his arm. He said, “Considering how often you’ve saved mine in the past, I’d say we’re pretty even. It’s what we do, right? Save each other?” His eyes bored into Stiles.

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed.

Derek stood up and walked to the doorway. Pausing, he turned back. “Stiles? I’m really glad I found you in time.” He stayed there, one hand on the doorframe, the same intense look he’d been sporting on and off all day back on his face, holding Stiles in sway.

“So am I,” Stiles managed to say. 

When Derek turned from the room, Stiles was left feeling oddly bereft. He held up a hand and watched the fine tremors in it. He glared, and shook his hand until the trembling smoothed out. 

As he lay there on the bed resting back against his pillows he started to doze off, but Derek came back with Melissa in tow before he could truly fall back asleep. 

Melissa checked Stiles’ response time and asked him a few questions. She listened to his breathing and his heart and took his blood pressure before she said, “You seem to be over the worst of it. You can get up if you want.”

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Stiles told her and slowly went to stand. Derek beat him to it and Stiles found himself being carried bridal style.  
“Woah! What?”

“Easier this way,” Derek explained.

Stiles held on as Derek carried him down the hallway. He lay his head on Derek’s shoulder. “You’re just like Scott, only way better.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, Scott is always touching me. You’re doing it too, which is awesome by the way, don’t stop. But you’re better and I like it way more, because Scott is Scott. And you are you.” 

Derek stumbled a bit but Stiles didn’t worry because Derek wouldn’t drop him and Derek was warm and Stiles was secure in himself enough to admit he liked being carried by him. 

“My own toasty warm wolf,” he whispered.

“Stiles, you’re still a little woozy.” 

Derek was laughing at him, Stiles was certain. “Mmmm.”

Stiles woke up a bit more when Derek placed him on the toilet seat. It was cold through his sweat pants and having a freezing butt did wonders for his mental acuity. 

“You okay to take it from here?”

“Yep. I’ll do my best not to fall in.”

 

***

 

It was late afternoon when Stiles sat on the couch in the living room. 

Derek had carried him and while he’d enjoyed it again, pressed up against all of Derek’s Derekness, he was also aware enough this time not to blurt out every thought that came into his head. He tried not to be too embarrassed that he’d told Derek he was better than Scott because he was a warm toasty wolf. God. 

He would also try not to worry about how Derek took it. Because really, how would he take that? Stiles is an idiot? Stiles was mentally incapacitated? Stiles liked him? Sure, all three were true, but fuck.

Stiles made an effort to let it go.

He pushed it back into the furthest corners of his mind, into the myriad jumble of things he didn’t want to dwell on.

After Derek had placed him on the couch, everyone stood together looking at him. 

“What?” he asked. He grabbed a cushion and shoved it behind his head and shoulders, between him and the couch. He lent his head back and closed his eyes.

“Scott told me you’re in some kind of trouble.” Derek said, getting right to the point. 

Stiles squinted at him without moving, immediately feeling tired for an entirely different reason. They were back on this, apparently. Although maybe they’d never left it. Just because Stiles liked the idea of ignoring something, didn’t mean anyone else was going to.

Looking at their expectant faces, Stiles groaned internally.

Derek continued, “I’ve also filled your dad in about what you told Scott, and what I think is going on.”

Stiles rubbed a hand across his eyes. “There’s nothing going on.”

“You’ve got a supernatural scent all over you, Stiles. You’re hiding it for some reason we don’t understand.”

Stiles sighed. Honestly, he wasn’t sure why he was acting defensively. He’d asked Derek to help him. He needed help. But he didn't want to tell them what was going on. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. If things would just settle in his head, everything would be fine. But everyone wanted him talk and they wouldn't stop pushing.

Stiles lifted his head, and looked at them. “What do you want to know?” he asked, smiling a fake smile.

Melissa shrunk away from him a little. When he cut his eyes to her she flinched. He didn’t want Melissa to look at him like that. He remembered when she’d been checking him over after the Nogitsune had split them and she’d been wary of him. That was the same look she was giving him now. 

“Do you think I’m possessed?” A cold shiver washed over him. 

None of them said anything.

“I’m not possessed,” he said. “Is that was this is about?”

“It’s not that we’re worried you’re possessed, Stiles,” his dad said, somewhat unconvincingly.

Stiles looked at him, “Then this is an intervention I don’t need.” Suddenly very much done with everything, he made to stand up. Just what he was going to do without his cane, which was back in his room, he didn’t know. He also didn’t care. 

“You are not moving from that couch until we get this sorted, do you hear me, Stiles?” His dad’s words were soft but full of authority. 

Stiles sagged back on the couch. He couldn’t go against that tone. It was ingrained in him through years of pushing things too far. There was a line never to be crossed.

“We’re trying to help you, son.”

“There’s nothing wrong,” Stiles tried to defend himself, deflect one more time. That was ingrained in him, too.

“Stop. There’s something wrong, dammit, and I’m not sitting back and doing nothing when I can stop it this time!”

Stiles couldn’t look at his dad so he tipped his head down. The past few years had hurt his dad. Not being able to protect his son was a personal grief. Stiles had caused him more heartache than he deserved.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?”

Stiles brought his head back up and looked at his dad, pleading. He couldn’t tell him. He just couldn’t. He shook his head. His mouth twisted and he opened it but there was nothing he could say. Nothing he wanted to say.

There was a knock on the door and Melissa went to answer it.

When the person walked into the living room, Stiles managed to find a reserve of energy. He jumped up and snarled out, “No!” He wobbled a bit and held on to the arm of the couch, but stayed standing. 

Deaton looked at him impassively from the living room entranceway. “Hello to you too, Stiles. It’s been a while.”

“Not long enough!” Stiles backed away, leaning his legs against the couch and reaching for the wall, but Derek placed himself in Stiles’ path and he stumbled into him. Without his cane, he allowed Derek to support him.

“Why is Deaton making you angry?” Derek asked, confused. 

Stiles looked back at him. “I’m not.” 

But he was. He was panting and clenching his fists. Looking at Deaton made him want to curl his lips back over his teeth and hiss at him. He didn’t realise he actually was until his dad made a soft sad noise. 

Derek put a gentle restraining arm around his shoulders like Stiles had the energy or will to launch himself forward. All he wanted to do was get far away.

Melissa was standing with his dad, holding his arm as they stared at Stiles. Melissa had tears in her eyes.

“Dad?”

“It’s okay, Stiles.”

Derek got Stiles to sit next to him, keeping his arm around his shoulders and one hand on his elbow. Stiles didn’t take his eyes off Deaton, intense dislike for the vet running through him. He shifted again and Derek rubbed his shoulder until Stiles was still.

Deaton calmly walked to the empty couch and put down his medical bag.

Stiles instinctively tried to move away but Derek stopped him. 

Deaton slowly sat down. “Stiles. You haven’t been visiting my practice. Was there a reason?”

“None of your business!” Stiles growled at him.

“Stiles!” His dad admonished him. 

Deaton held up a hand. “It’s alright, Sheriff. All of Stiles’ answers are helpful.” 

Stiles sneered at him. 

Deaton eyed him like he was a particularly interesting animal. “Scott said you were busy?”

“Probably.” It was amazing how much sarcasm and distaste could be put in just one word.

Derek whispered into Stiles ear, “Let him help you.”

Stiles took a deep breath and looked away, down at the floor. 

Deaton asked another question. “Why didn’t you come to the clinic, Stiles?”

Stiles swallowed hard, biting back the original answer he wanted to give. Instead, he frowned and still looking at the floor, answered, “I didn’t want to.” 

Derek was still rubbing his thumb in small circles, and the arm around his shoulder was heavy and welcoming. Grounding him.

“Why didn’t you want to?” 

Stiles shrugged and bit his lip. He gripped Derek’s knee.

“Do you know why, or was it just something that felt right?”

“It still feels right.”

“Does being around the clinic feel wrong to you?” 

Stiles cast a sly glance up and didn’t answer. Deacon nodded like he had. 

“Does being around me feel wrong to you?”

“Yes!” Stiles said disdainfully, glaring at him. 

Deaton looked over at Stiles’ dad. “I don’t expect young people to hang out at an animal clinic when there are numerous other things they could be doing, but as Scott and Stiles had been doing so for a while, I found the timing of Stiles’ absence to be curious.”

“Speak plain, man!” his dad grumbled and Stiles cackled, causing everyone but Deaton to flinch.

“At first, I thought perhaps Stiles was distancing himself from the pack. It happens, but it would be strange given that Stiles has shown time and time again where his heart lies in regards to his friends.” Deaton’s look travelled over the way Stiles was clenching his fingers into Derek’s knee. “But he kept helping, and by talking to Scott I understood that Stiles was choosing not to come to the clinic. Scott also told me about a strange thing he witnessed one day. He was worried, you see.” Deaton looked right at Stiles. “He witnessed you do something you shouldn’t be able to do without training, study and possibly other people.”

“What did I do?” Stiles asked, curious dispute himself. Nothing came to mind, but he had a feeling it was another one of his ‘moments of luck’.

Deacon continued his story like Stiles hadn’t spoken. “When Scott told me, I assumed you had decided to work with your spark. But you didn’t come to me. Did you feel I could not be trusted?” 

Stiles frowned at him.

Deaton hummed a little. “Around this time, almost half a year ago, there was a disturbance.”

“In the Force?” Stiles asked pithily, and Derek cuffed him gently on the head.

“Something began plaguing my sleep. I saw the clearing where the Nemeton is, but in my dreams it was not there. Just a mass of roots spreading out and twisting around each other, growing as I watched.”

Stiles recoiled, he couldn’t help it, remembering what he'd been told: 'Roots are pawing through the earth to find a heart.'

Deaton eyed him before continuing. “Not a week after, Scott mentioned smelling a strange scent on one of his runs in the preserve. He said it reminded him of nature. It was wild, like being in the eye of a storm. He was positive it was a supernatural creature because it made his hair stand on end.” Deaton paused, studying Stiles. 

Stiles stared back at him. At some time, Deaton would probably get to the point. Stiles expected he liked to be dramatic. Closet thespian.

“I started to look for information and asked Scott to keep an eye, and nose, out for anything else. He did not smell the scent in the preserve again until around the time Stiles was emitted to hospital.”

Stiles remembered Scott mentioning something about a possible new creature. He hadn’t told him about smelling it before though.

“Now I held all of these pieces to a puzzle, but it wasn’t until you called me today, Derek, and told me your concerns that I started putting the puzzle together. I’m fairly certain Stiles has a lot of information he could tell us if he wanted to, but he's choosing not to do so."

Everyone looked back at Stiles who had begun to feel the hot flare of anger building up again.

“Do you notices how Stiles immediately tenses up when I am direct? He was somewhat placid when I was talking about Scott, but bring our focus back to him and there is an immediate and negative reaction.”

“He did the same thing with me,” Derek said. 

Stiles pushed his arm of his shoulder. “Don’t talk about me like I can’t hear you! I’m right here!” He looked at his dad. “Come on! Of course I’m annoyed, I’m waiting for the punch line. I hear a lot of words but nothing makes sense! He hasn’t really told us anything. A bunch of nothing about a dream and a smell.” He looked back at Deaton and curled his lip at him, “Way to be obtuse, Druid.” He said the title like it was a curse.

“Now you’re trying to obfuscate. You’re ticking all the boxes, Stiles. It could be linked to your trauma, and normally I would suggest intense therapy, but Scott mentioned your talk this morning. He called after he left your home. He got it out of you, didn’t he? Not fully, but enough that I feel I am right about this. Your reaction to me is not normal, Stiles. It’s almost animalistic. You pull away from me like I could hurt you. I’m sure it’s because you know somehow that I’ll find you out.”

Stiles stood up, needing to move, and this time Derek let him move away from the couch. He did so slowly, wishing he had his cane because he was weak at the knees. 

“Find what out?” Stiles dad looked torn between going to help his son and hearing what Deaton had to say first.

“Shall I tell you what Scott told me, Stiles? At first I thought it was spark related magic. Raw and amazing, but just a spark. But now I know. Remember the huge storm system that settled over Beacon Hills? It was at the same time that the rest of this started.” Deaton sat forward and spoke with a calm voice, one that made people want to listen.

Stiles found himself stuck between fighting a desire to leave the room; getting as far from Deaton as he could, or hearing him out.

“So we have a curious weather phenomenon, unsettling dreams about the Nemeton, a strange and wild smelling scent of an unknown creature in the preserve, and you behaving in a way that is very unlike the Stiles we know. Afterwards, you start to evade the one place in town you know a druid works at, you start to focus on magic, and then you were taken.”

Stiles rocked like he’d been struck. He stumbled and ended up on his knees. It was telling that no one came to help him. Stiles couldn’t blame them, Deaton was talking like he was possessed again. His dad, Derek and Melissa were listening and trying not to judge too quickly. But there was doubt in their eyes. 

“I heard mention of your abduction being about revenge on your father. It made sense at the time, but I didn’t know then what I know now,” Deaton added.

Stiles looked at his dad. He hadn’t been told that was the official story. It was a good one. Hell, it had actually happened with Donovan. 

“When you were found things started to pop up that made me curious again. All surrounding you, Stiles. You had iron bands around your neck and wrists. And you were so sick. Too sick, really. Iron poisoning. Is that correct, Melissa?”

Melissa nodded her head. “The symptoms didn’t match completely with the normal signs, but that was the best guess. The doctors decided you must have been injected in your neck because of the vein collapse, even though you couldn’t remember it happening. But Stiles, you started to heal so fast,” she said.

“Too fast for normal,” Deaton said. “Especially when you were close to dying.”

“Well excuse me for not doing what was expected,” Stiles sneered at him.

“Then Derek called me today and talked me through me a list of things that he, Scott, and your dad have noticed.”

“Like what?” Stiles spat out.

“Increase in panic attacks, nightmares and irritability. Confusion. Emotional outbursts of sadness, happiness and anger.”

“PTSD,” shot back Stiles. “Not possession.” He glared darkly at everyone.

“No, you are not possessed.” Deacon agreed. “Not this time.”

Stiles’ dad exhaled and Melissa turned to comfort him. 

“I’m told you are also lying more than usual, are secretive, have periods of uncharacteristic behaviour, and I believe you are finding it increasingly difficult to talk about what is happening to you. You had an episode of going into shock just this afternoon, right after asking Derek for help. You also contacted both your father and Lydia through a spiritual connection while you were kidnapped.”

Stiles sat back on his heels. Even he had to admit, the evidence was pilling up damningly against him. “You still haven’t mentioned whatever was going on with Scott,” he couldn’t help saying. 

Melissa made a small noise, but said nothing when Stiles turned his head to look at her. 

“It was right after a lacrosse game. You were on the field and the storm started pelting down. Everyone ran for cover but when Scott looked for you, you were not with the others. You were still on the field with the rain coming so hard that Scott had to use his Alpha eyes to keep track of you. He saw a moving shape made of rain and air. It was flowing and floating and as Scott watched, it covered you completely like you had been swallowed whole.”

Stiles’ heartbeat kicking up had Derek lifting his head. “Stiles?”

Stiles didn’t answer him.

Deaton’s mouth set into a firm line. “You know what I’m talking about.”

Stiles only swallowed and said, “It could have been rain and wind turning into condensed eddies. It happens.”

“Yes. But when Scott touched you he received a large enough electric shock that he was flung off his feet. When he got back up, the form had disappeared.”

Stiles didn’t remember any of this. He recalled the storm, but then nothing until his next class. He hadn’t known he was missing a chunk of time. Why hadn’t Scott talked to him about this?

“Everyone was completely soaked from being outside in the storm, including Scott. But you weren’t. There wasn’t a drop of rain on your skin, your hair, or your clothes.”

Stiles believed Deaton’s story. And if he believed it, there was every chance so did everyone else. 

“Have you had any other strange things happen to you that are connected to nature? Have you seen the swirling form that Scott mentioned?”

Stiles stood up shakily from the floor and said nothing. 

Deaton was grave. “You have. Your silence says it all.”

“My silence says nothing because that’s what it is. Silence.” He tried to walk, but stumbled and fell. 

Derek helped him up, and even though Stiles struggled, he wouldn’t let go. Derek was an immoveable pain in the ass. 

“I don’t expect you to say yes, Stiles. I expect you to behave more irrationally the closer we get to the truth. You can’t help it. You may have rationalized your choices for not telling anyone what was going on, but you’re still trying to talk to us. Just like with the Nogitsune.”

“It’s nothing like the Nogitsune! I am not possessed!” Stiles yelled and pulled at Derek’s hold on him. He ended up on the floor, Derek not willing to hurt him, but not giving up from holding him close. “Derek, please,” Stiles pleaded quietly, for his ears only, “Let me go. Help me.”

Derek looked conflicted, looking into Stiles’ eyes, but he didn’t do as asked.

Deaton removed something from his bag. “No. You are right. You are not possessed. Of that I am sure.” He turned towards Stiles, holding a needle in his hand.

Stiles cried out, “No! No! NO! Don’t put that in me! Get away!” He kicked out, missing Deaton’s shins, and bit Derek’s arm, hard enough to almost draw blood. Derek grunted but did not let go. Stiles bit him again, harder.

“Fuck! Stiles!” 

Deaton walked over to Stiles as Derek caught his flailing fists. He rubbed Stiles' arm a few times, quickly, and inserted the needle into his skin. 

Stiles cried out in despair. The injection burned in his muscle and move down his arm in a nasty tingle. He pushed against Derek’s grip on his wrists.

Derek let go of his arms, cradling him gently instead. He was whispering soothing noises into Stiles’ ear. 

“I am sure of something else, too, Stiles,” Deaton caught his eyes. “I am sure you were chosen.” He placed something cool against Stiles’ forehead.

There was a trickling sensation over his skin, a lance of something sharp into his brain. Then it was like a flood gate opened in Stiles’ mind. All his fumbling around, trying to get an answer when he’d known it from the very beginning but hadn’t been able to hold it in his mind long enough to comprehend it. His mind had been clouded but now he could finally make sense of everything.

Derek was calling his name as Stiles came back to himself. His limbs were twitching like they’d been spasming. His muscles hurt, they were too tight but he couldn’t relax.

Stiles dad was down on the ground next to him, holding one of his hands. “Stiles,” he choked out.

Stiles stared up at Deaton with fear thudding through every part of his body. Derek placed a hand against his cheek. It didn’t feel warm but so very cold. He felt so cold. 

Stiles spat at Deaton with his remaining energy, “I am Fae. You can not contain me.” 

 

***


	5. The Nogitsune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles learns a little bit more about himself. And so does everyone else.

Stiles groggily started to come to. He was getting annoyed with all of the passing out and waking up he’d been doing. It didn’t make him any less angry that this time he’d been knocked out by Deaton. He was lying wrapped up in a blanket on the couch. It was nighttime, and his dad was sitting on the other couch with Melissa.

Stiles slit his eyes and didn’t move.

“This can’t be happening again. It just can’t.” Stiles’ dad had his head in his hands. “Why is it always my son? He doesn’t deserve this.”

“Noah,” Melissa said firmly, “all of them go through too much, I agree. But it’s the world we live in.”

“Then we’ll leave! You can’t tell me Beacon Hills is the same as everywhere else. It’s a damn beacon for God’s sake!”

“You wouldn’t leave even if you truly believed it was the best thing to do. You wouldn’t abandon this town and its people.”

“I would if it would keep Stiles safe!”

“It wouldn’t, Noah. One, it’s Stiles. He’d find trouble where ever you moved to.” 

Stiles’ dad groaned in weary agreement. 

“Two, Stiles wouldn’t leave his friends. And you saw him with Derek today. You think he’d walk away from that?”

“That’s not new on his side and I’m pretty sure Derek would follow him anyway.”

Stiles tried not to squirm. Okay, so pretty much everyone was aware of his feelings for Derek. He could deal with that. But what was this about Derek following him if he left? Not that he was going anywhere, Melissa had that right. Stiles was shocked his dad was talking about pulling up their lives just because bad stuff was happening. 

“We’ll work this out, Noah. Scott’s coming soon. When he’s here we’ll make a plan. Isn’t that what our boys do best?”

“Yeah. Although their plans could use work.” They both laughed a little. “But they always pull through. You’re right, Mel.”

“I’m a mother. I’m always right.”

Derek chose that moment to walk into the living room. “You’re awake,” he said to Stiles.

Stiles’ dad and Melissa turned their faces towards him so he rolled his eyes and sat up. “Yeah.” He leveled a glare at Derek. “I’m extremely pissed at you. You helped that bastard inject me and knock me out!”

“It was necessary, Stiles.”

“Necessary? I wasn’t going to hurt anyone!”

Derek crossed his arms defensively, clenching his jaw. Stiles expected him to get angry and fight back. But he remained stubbornly silent, looking away.

Stiles couldn't keep a hold of his anger. He reminded himself that Derek was trying to help him. He pushed the blanket off the couch. “Come over here, Derek, please.” 

Derek sat down on the end of the couch. Stiles forgo pussy-footing around and scooted over, leaning into him. Derek wrapped tentative arms around him and Stiles hugged him back.

“That’s our cue to go.” Melissa pulled Stiles’ dad up by the arm and they left the room.

When they’d gone Stiles said, “Don’t do it again, okay? If that’s the only option, talk to me. I can’t take being knocked out, it’s not something I want to go through again.”

“I’m sorry.” Stiles could feel Derek’s sigh. “But you need to understand, you weren’t acting normal.”

“This is me. I am acting normal,” Stiles insisted, and Derek snorted. Stiles moved to give himself some space. “No, listen, every time I turn around, someone is watching me, trying to get me to talk, monitoring me. Then you ganged up on me. I wasn’t going to sit back and take it.”

“Stiles, it scares me that you honestly believe you're acting like yourself right now. You’re smarter than that.”

Stiles frowned. “I’ve been under a lot of stress.”

“Deaton is right, you’re justifying your actions.”

“Don’t talk to me about that bastard!” Stiles immediately tensed up. Derek placed a hand on his arm and Stiles could feel warmth begin to seep into him. “Just like Scott,” he mumbled. The feeling made him relax and he sighed a little in pleasure.

Derek’s eyebrows were in danger of slipping down his face if he frowned any further. “Stiles, I’m going to try to say some things now, and I need you to listen to me, even if what I say makes you feel angry or scared.”

“Okay.” Stiles shuffled closer to Derek again. “It okay if we sit together?”

“We’ve been sitting together all day,” Derek pointed out, but moved so Stiles could lie against him. He picked up the blanket and draped it around them both.

“Yeah, but we never used to before. It’s new, and we haven’t actually talked about it. I know it’s pack bonding but I want to make sure it’s okay with you.”

“You know that do you?” Derek said, somewhat amused. “It’s okay with me, Stiles.”

“Awesome.” The warm feeling had travelled through pretty much every part of Stiles’ body. It was a drug and he was quickly becoming an addict. “You can do the same. To me, I mean. I’m all good with the touching.” 

Derek sighed out against the top of his head where he’d tipped it into Derek’s shoulder. “Now we have that cleared up, I’m going to talk now. No more changing the subject or interrupting, okay?” 

Stiles said nothing. 

“Stiles?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I allowed to have an opinion, now?”

“God. Would you just,” Derek sighed. “Never mind.” 

Derek shuffled them around a bit until Stiles was completely curled up in his arms. He didn't mind being man-handled in the slightest if this was the outcome.

“Stiles, you said you were fae.” Stiles tensed, but Derek shushed him before he could deny it. “I’m not asking you to talk about it. I’m going to tell you a story my mother told me about the wild folk. There was a time when Beacon Hills had their fair share of them. The preserve was their home and they lived and died without most humans coming into contact with them. 

There was the odd sighting here and there; someone would mention lights coming from the woods, hear laughter that came from nowhere, the even rarer occurrence of someone disappearing off the trails. But for the most part the only humans in Beacon Hills who knew of nature’s spirits were druids and the emissaries of the Hale Pack.”

Stiles shuddered at the mention of the druids. Derek rubbed a hand over his arm.

“By the time my mother was Alpha, the wild folk had almost moved on. It happened all over the world, a lessoning of natural magic, of belief in the supernatural. My mother never mentioned if she personally had any dealings with them, but she did say one thing. The Wild Folk, the Fae, the Sidhe; they smell like the wilder parts of nature to a wolf’s nose. They make fur stand on end. They confuse the wolf’s instincts and are always tricky and can hardly ever be trusted.”

“Do you believe that?” Stiles whispered.

“It fits with what Scott scented in the preserve. If they’ve come back, it explains what’s happening to you.”

“No. Do I smell wrong to you?”

“No! And fae don’t smell wrong. They’re supposed to smell more natural than anything else.” 

Derek placed his nose into his neck, and Stiles’ eyes fluttered shut. He tipped his head back to give Derek more room. Derek took several deep breaths. Stiles’ mouth dropped open. 

“You smell like Stiles,“ Derek mumbled, and Stiles couldn’t think. “You smell like someone I want to be around. Someone who I care about. Someone who makes me laugh and makes me exasperated. You smell like someone who’s been very sick but is healing. You smell tired and worried and scared. You smell like someone I want to protect.” 

He took another deep breath that had Stiles clutching the blankets hard, so he wouldn’t end up sitting in Derek’s lap. 

“If I go deeper, I can smell the change. Scott could only get the barest hint of it because it’s hidden. Now I know what to scent, it’s more vivid to me than just a supernatural smell. I can smell earth, sunlight and rain. I can smell a wild electricity. It makes me want to change into a full wolf so I can smell it even better.” 

Stiles shivered. Derek ran a hand down Stiles’ cheek and cupped his jaw.

“Holy fuck,” Stiles whispered. He could feel a stirring down in his groin and, while elated that his body was finally getting back on the same page as his emotions, he wished it wasn’t happening right now. “I used to say you needed to use more words.”

“You understood me anyway.” Derek pressed in. Any closer and Stiles wouldn’t have to move in order to be sitting in Derek’s lap, Derek would do it for him.

“I, yeah. Because it was you. You’re easy for me to read. Most of the time.”

“Only because you took the time to learn how.” Derek could kiss him if he chose to, he was so close, looking into Stiles' eyes. “I’m going to tell you one of the reasons I stayed. It was so I could learn how to read you, too.”

Stiles was in a movie, he must be, no one says things like that in real life. Not to him anyway. At any moment, someone would yell ‘cut!’ and Stiles would be go back to his real life where Derek was a fantasy he jerked off to. He tried to stop the pounding in his heart. “Your mom said fae weren’t to be trusted. Do you trust me?” 

Derek moved back with a self-deprecating smirk. He still had his arm wrapped around Stiles, but Stiles could breath again without being overwhelmed. 

“You? Yes. Without doubt. Even with you being what you are now. But I don’t trust whatever this thing is that has a hold of you. And it’s there, even if you don’t believe it.”

Stiles opened his mouth and closed it again. He was considering telling Derek about everything. “I have books.” As soon as he said it he squirmed, feeling wrong, feeling anxious. 

“Books?”

“The things I know.” Speaking was difficult. “In my room.”

“Okay. I’ll check. Just breathe.”

Stiles huffed out a little laugh at that. Just breathe. 

He took a breath, then another one. 

 

***

 

Lydia and Derek were going through the books in Stiles’ room while he did nothing to help them.

At first they’d asked which ones they needed and he’d just raised an eyebrow in answer. He hadn’t actually considered how many books he had until he’d been asked numerous times if they’d found the right one. He was happy his text book idea worked. They hadn’t even glanced at his school pile. 

Eventually, they’d kicked him out of his own room because apparently his “smug face was not helping”. Lydia’s words.

So now he was in the study watching Scott who’d brought over new information from Deaton. Stiles didn’t touch any of it.

“Stiles, seriously. Stop it with the staring and the smirking,” Scott demanded while he flipped through Deaton’s loose notes.

Stiles was feeling particularly petulant for some reason. “Nah, I’m good,” he declined.

Scott shot him an unimpressed glance.

Stiles had to hold in his snigger. He was acting strange, he knew it. But he couldn’t stop. There was a weird sensation inside of him, like a shifting, a tilting of the world and suddenly everything was clearer, visible in a whole new way.

He tipped his head to the side, contemplating Scott. “Would you rather I tell you how stupid this all is? It is you know.” He drew out the last few words, mocking. 

Lydia had entered the room as he spoke and she sucked in a shocked breath. Stiles didn’t understand the reason for her expression, but it was obvious she was worried. He took a step towards her and she stepped back.

“Stiles,” she whispered, her eyes wide. Her hand fluttered up to her mouth.

Stiles took a breath and something slid into him, under his ribs and along his lungs. Heavy and thick. Hot and cold. Full of a vicious muddled substance. It was fear, only not his own. This was familiar. The pull, the slippery feelings condensing inside him.

Stiles smiled widely. 

The fear settled his anxiety. His head was clear, his heart strong. He liked it. He would swear he could feel Lydia’s heartbeat beating in his own chest, picking up pace.

He took another step towards her.

“Stiles?!” Derek had come into the room, stepping up behind Lydia. 

Stiles glanced at him once, disinterested. Lydia was more captivating right then, her eyes shinning and her hand on her throat. 

“Scott, grab him!” Derek yelled out, pulling Lydia to his side.

Stiles hissed as his prize was taken from him and he went to jump forward but was grabbed from behind, Scott’s arms holding his by his side. He struggled for a bit, surprisingly almost breaking free, until Scott roared out his name. 

“STILES!!!”

The Alpha roar shook him down to his core and Stiles sagged, blinked, and shook his head.

Everything shrunk back down to normal. The feelings and clearheadedness were gone, replaced by his normal weariness, his worry, and his lethargy.

“Fuck.”

It was like coming out of a dream.

“Lydia?” 

Lydia stared at him, obviously shaken up by what had just happened.

What had just happened? Why had he wanted to do that?

It was just like … Just like the Nogitsune.

Bile rose up in Stiles’ throat but he swallowed it down. “God, Lydia. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that.” 

“It’s fine,” she stammered. “I’m fine.”

Derek moved out of her way as she turned and left the room. Derek watched her go then turned back with a frown.

Stiles shrugged helplessly, at a loss as to how to explain something he didn’t understand.

“You alright if I let you go, bro?” Scott asked him in concern.

Stiles shook his head. He was probably as freaked out as Lydia was. Maybe more. “I don’t think so. No.”

“Want to talk about what just happened?”

“No.”

Even though he didn’t want to, Stiles pulled himself out of Scott’s hold. He leant heavily on his cane, which he hadn’t let go of, and rubbed at his face with one hand. He was done. He was too tired and just wanted to forget the whole thing.

Through his fingers he watched Derek and Scott exchange worried looks, words exchanged silently through frowns and head shakes. Derek left the room quickly.

“Stiles? Don’t worry about it, okay? We’ll fix it,” Scott told him.

Stiles turned away from the door, which he’d been staring at. Scott was trying to hide his worry from him. He’d never been able to do it, but he kept trying. The leader in him wanting to keep his pack members secure and safe.

Stiles felt anything but.

 

***

 

Everyone had convened in the study once Stiles’ books were found. They shared them out and Stiles tried not to react too negatively when they started to read.

Derek was reading his History book. In it, Stiles had recorded his memories of the sunlight meditations. This book was the most damning of them all. Stiles had picked it up off the desk where Lydia had put them and held on to it until Derek had gently unclasped his fingers.

His dad put down the Physics book, and Stiles braced himself. “I honestly don’t know whether to strangle you or hug you,” his dad began.

“Sounds pretty normal,” Stiles observed. 

“You’re an idiot for all you’re so smart. Your actions lately have been reckless and placed you in danger. I know you’re under the influence of something supernatural, but dammit, you’re going about this the wrong way!”

“What way should I be doing things?” Stiles was honestly interested to hear what his dad would have done in his place. “I didn’t ask for this. I’m working things out, I’m coping, I’m not putting anyone in danger.” He suppressed the memory of what he’d done to Lydia.

“Listen to what your dad’s saying! You’re putting yourself in danger!” Derek growled. 

“You’re being insufferable and pig headed,” Lydia agreed. That was the first thing she’d said to him since he’d frightened her.

“But now we know everything you know, right?” Scott asked. He was holding the Statistic book in his hand and waved it for emphasis.

Stiles hummed non-committedlly. They could take that however they wanted. “Contrary to popular opinion I know how to ask for help. I just can’t talk about it. I won’t.”

“It’s a fae thing,” Scott nodded. “Deaton said fae are incredibly secretive. It’s just their nature.”

“Are you’re telling me that my son has even more reason to lie?” his dad asked, aghast. “You’re kidding right?”

Stiles barked out a laugh. His dad glared at him, causing him to snort. 

“Basically, yeah,” Scott shrugged, apologetic.

“I have a Get Out of Jail Free card!” Stiles teased.

“Stiles. Shut. Up.” His dad was not amused. 

Scott picked up a page from Deaton’s notes. “There’s also no way to turn him back.”

“Try it and you’ll regret it,” Stiles threatened. 

His dad asked Scott, “Is Deaton sure?”

Scott twisted his mouth. “Yeah, and Stiles reaction just then was what he told me would happen when I mentioned it. He’ll fight us if we try to change him back.”

“There’s nothing to change!” Stiles sneered at Scott. “I am whatever I choose to be!”

“The mist-creature said that too, Stiles,” Derek reminded him. “You wrote it down.”

“So what?” His anger was growing.

Lydia frowned at him. “Stiles, what you’re saying is completely not you. You’ve never wanted to be anyone but yourself.”

“I am myself!”

“To be human,” she corrected.

“Well I’ve changed my mind. People can do that, Lydia.” He gave her a cold stare. He didn’t care right now about what he’d done to her. She was pissing him off.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Stiles, you’re being mean. You’re scaring me on purpose and being rude and all I’m trying to do is support you.”

Scott interrupted before Stiles could say the cutting words that were bubbling up on his tongue. “It’s because we’re pushing him. Saying things that make the fae part of him worried. Deaton explained it’s why his behaviour has been so up and down and why he’s being so aggressive.”

“You haven’t seen me aggressive, Scott.” Stiles needed him to shut up.

“You bit me,” Derek cut in. “Twice.”

Stiles scowled at him. “It didn’t do any permanent damage and you deserved it!” 

Scott shook his head at Derek, and spoke to Stiles, “It’s not in your nature to use physical force first when you can use words to hurt instead.”

“And so very effectively,” his dad agreed.

“Deaton said he’s still in a period of transition. It’s why his scent is mostly the same as it always was. And why he’s erratic in his emotions.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Stiles grumbled.

“Yeah. And I’m saying all this in front of you so you know what we’re going to do. We won’t try to change you. You’re Fae. That’s it. We’ll deal, like we did the werewolf stuff. I’ve got your back, bro."

He held out his fist, and Stiles bumped it.

“Thanks, Scott.” 

“I don’t like this.” Stiles’ dad pushed back his chair and stood up.

“He’s still himself, Sheriff,” Scott pointed out.

“Is he really?” His dad paused, as shocked by his own words as Stiles was at hearing them. “I just mean I’m having trouble that you’re not the same boy you once were.”

Stiles waved a hand half-heartedly. “That makes no sense. I haven’t been a kid for ages, Dad. I grew up. And, okay yeah, changed species. But it’s like Scott said, and he should know; I’m still me. Just with a little extra.”

“Which we don’t know that much about!”

Stiles shrugged. “We’ll learn.” 

“It’s supposed to be sunny, tomorrow,” Lydia ventured. “We could help you with the sunlight thing.” 

Stiles was skeptical. “You want to do that?”

Lydia gave him an affronted glare. “Why not? I’m curious. I want to see it.” Her expression softened. “Besides, I’m here to help.”

Stiles’ breath caught. “You are the bestest Lydia that ever Lydiad, I swear. I don’t deserve you.”

“I know, but you’ve got me anyway.” Lydia raised her eyebrows, a teasing expression crossing her face. “I hear you even had a ten year plan.”

 

***

 

Stiles was pacing slowly around his darkened room the next morning. His cane made little thumping noises on the carpet. He’d not slept.

It had been the same for his dad. He’d been up, moving around, when he should have been sleeping, instead of worrying about his son. 

His son, who in the next while was going to go into a meditative state and try to contact a supernatural being who at this point was of unknown character. Were they more neutral good or did they lean more to true neutral? Stiles tended to land on the chaotic good side of things himself, but what if the creature who chose him was chaotic evil? 

Stiles rubbed a hand over his face and then up into his hair. He needed to stop profiling people using D&D alignments. Too bad it worked so well.

This was a stupid idea. No. He’d had stupid ideas before. This was beyond that. This was … He couldn’t even think of a word that was more than stupid. Wait. Insane. Yes. This was insane. 

“Stiles.”

What had he been thinking? He had no idea what was going to happen. What if he convulsed or drooled or talked funny? Or worse, what if he sparkled? What if being there put them in danger? What if someone got hurt? There was so much that could feasibly go wrong. 

This was such a bad idea!

“Stiles!”

His dad was standing in the doorway, watching him with a frown. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m good.” He paused at the scoffing noise his dad gave. “Don’t ask if you know the answer.”

“Silly me. Having hope that at some time in my life my son may answer that question with the truth.”

Stiles pointed a finger at his dad. “You are the source of my sarcasm. The fact that no one really knows this has caused me undue stress. And numerous detentions. You need a warning label. I may stitch it to your uniform without you knowing.”

“And you get your need to change the subject when you’re uncomfortable from your mother. She was in a class of her own, but lately you’re up there.”

“Only lately? I feel like I’m letting the team down.”

His dad sighed. “By the way, Derek’s arrived and he’s doing the cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof thing better than you are.”

Stiles snorted, “Don’t let him hear you say that. He hates dog jokes enough as it is. Add cat ones and you may loose a limb.”

A displeased rumble came from the other side of the house, loud enough for them to both hear it. They grinned at each other. 

“Those who eavesdrop rarely hear things they want to!” Stiles sang as he slowly walked out of his room, his dad behind him.

Derek was standing at the end of the hallway, glaring at them both. “It’s not eavesdropping when you’re a werewolf!”

Stiles walked towards him. “Do you say that to get out of speeding tickets? I’m sorry, officer, I was running too fast because I was needed at the latest crime scene! Could you let me off with a warning? I am a werewolf, you know.”

“I don’t get speeding tickets!” Derek replied, and held out his hand. Stiles took it and ended up in his personal space.

“Hi,” Derek said, giving Stiles one of his sweet smiles. 

Stiles swayed into him a little. “Hi,” he replied.

Stiles’ dad coughed. “Seriously? You’re as bad as each other!” He walked past them, shaking his head.

Derek dropped Stiles’ hand and stepped back a pace. Stiles immediately missed the feel of it.

“What was that about?” he asked, frowning after his father.

Derek cleared his throat, “No idea.” He crossed his arms. “I wanted to ask, are you sure you want to do this?”

“Do you mean the possibly incredibly bad idea of doing another meditation but with all of the people I’m closest to in my life bearing witness to any fatally embarrassing moments that may occur?” Stiles asked.

Derek frowned, “Yes. Exactly that.”

“No, I really don’t actually.” Stiles came to the conclusion as he said it. 

“I was surprised when you agreed.” Derek ran fingers over his stubble. 

Stiles wanted to reach over and follow the path with his own fingers. He stopped himself from moving forward. Pack bonding did not include constant molestation. As far as he could tell.

He shrugged and turned in the direction of the kitchen. “What can I say? Lydia is a force of nature and she scares me a little.” And he may have felt guilty enough about what he did to her to feel pressured into agreeing.

“Just a little? She scares me a lot.”

“I would make a joke about the big bad wolf right now but, admittedly, she scares me a lot, too.”

“Who’s this?” asked his dad, as they came into the kitchen.

“Lydia. She scares Derek and me. But don’t tell her that. She needs no extra power.”

Stiles hooked his cane on his elbow, opened the fridge and leaned on the door. His dad had just filled it up with fruit and vegetables and all things healthy. How he must have hated that shopping trip. Nothing was appealing, so Stiles shut the door and saw his dad watching him.

“What?” he defended. “I’m not that hungry!”

His dad shrugged. “Don’t care. You’re still getting better. Just because you walked the length of the house without adding to your injuries doesn’t give you a gold pass. Sit. Eat some fruit if nothing else.” 

His dad pushed him gently towards the table. Derek pulled out the chair for him.

It was like a coordinated dance as his dad got him to sit, removed his cane, and Derek placed a mug of tea in front of him. His dad then then set a bowl on the table within easy reach. Derek pushed the fruit bowl, a new item in the Stilinski household, towards him. 

“This is how being king would feel, I’m betting,” Stiles murmured, taking the proffered fruit knife from his dad.

Derek sounded amused when he quipped, “But without the power to start a world war.”

“Stiles doesn’t need to be king to do that,” his dad said, as he sat down with a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee. Stiles had never been a coffee drinker, what with taking Adderall, but he’d always liked the smell. Police were coffee drinkers and he’d spent a lot of time at the station. Coffee smelt like childhood memories to Stiles.

He started slicing an apple into his bowl. “When’s everyone else arriving, and have you had breakfast?” he asked Derek. “Because if you haven’t, you should. Breakfast is the meal of champions and all that. Or so say the people who make Wheaties.” He frowned into his bowl. Maybe he needed yogurt with it.

His dad sighed at Derek’s raised eyebrow. “Go with it. He’s nothing if not contrary. What’s good for him is not always good for everyone else.”

Derek watched Stiles almost cut himself with the knife. He winced but said nothing.

Stiles put the knife down. “So, they’re coming when?” he asked again.

Derek was frowning at the knife like it personally insulted him. “Lydia mentioned before lunch, so you can use the optimum time or something.” 

“Makes sense. Right before, during, and right after midday are supposed to be the highest UV times. So if we want the most sun that’s the time to do it.” Stiles took a bite of his apple and picked up a banana to start peeling it.

“You know the most random things,” Derek told him.

“Everyone does,” Stiles shrugged. He’d been told that before, only not always in a positive manner. 

“Not everyone says them out loud. All the time,” his dad quipped.

“You’re a funny man. My randomness is part of my charm.”

He held out the peeled banana to Derek who, after a pause, broke off half and bit into it.

Stiles put the tip of his half of the banana into his mouth, and sucked until it pulled off from the rest of it. 

Derek made a choking noise, then coughed. “Food went down wrong,” he explained, waving off Stiles’ concern.

“You need some water?” Stiles asked, swallowing the banana in his mouth.

His dad palmed his face and muttered, “My God.” 

Derek nodded, “I’ll get it.” He got up and went to the sink. Stiles watched as he bent over to turn the tap on. The light from the window put highlights in his hair.

Stiles’ dad shook his head and picked up his cereal. “And that’s me done with my breakfast,” he said to himself. He placed the bowl on the sink’s drying rack and clapped Derek on the shoulder. Derek cringed, and Stiles’ dad smirked. “I’m going to head out for a bit, give me a call when everyone’s here.” He shook his head at Stiles again, before walking out of the kitchen. 

“Don’t you dare go to the diner for doughnuts! They’ll tell me, I’ve got sources!” Stiles yelled out.

“That’s a stereotype! Just because I’m the sheriff doesn’t mean I like donuts!” his dad yelled back, as he opened the front door.

“You do like donuts! Your actions help perpetuate the stereotype!” 

His dad’s answer was to close the front door behind him.

Derek turned back from the sink, a bemused smile on his face. “Would he really go get donuts?” He sat back down at the table, with a glass of water in hand.

Stiles ate a bit of apple and groaned internally. He should have put yogurt on it. This was going to take ages to eat.

“If he thought he could do it without me knowing, you bet he would. He assumes I’m so strict because I want him to suffer. It’s to even out the fact that he sneaks stuff all the time.”

Derek got up again and went to the fridge. He perused the food list and open the fridge door. While he was moving things around inside he said, “Maybe he sneaks stuff because you’re so strict?”

“It’s a vicious circle, I’ll admit.” 

Derek placed a tub of yogurt on the table and went to get a spoon from the drawer. Stiles watched silently. When Derek handed the spoon to him he still didn’t say anything. Derek blushed under his scrutiny, which made Stiles want to hug him. 

“Um, what’s up with the yogurt?”

“You didn’t like your apple. You like yogurt and it’s on your list.” Derek was clearly flustered. He reached for the spoon in Stiles’ hand. 

“No! No. Yogurt is good. I’ll have yogurt.”

Stiles fumbled the lid and splattered yogurt on the table but eventually he had his fruit covered.

That done, he scoped up an obscene amount onto his spoon and sucked it into his mouth with a moan. “Thanks,” he mumbled around it, “Really.” He licked off the remaining yogurt and put the spoon in his bowl. “I really do like strawberry.”

Derek cleared his throat, his face blank. “You’re welcome.”

 

***

 

After breakfast, Stiles had started to seriously regret what he’d agreed to do. He’d been pacing for a while but his legs had gotten wobbly so he’d had to sit. Derek had reached over to where Stiles was rhythmically clenching his hands in his lap. He’d placed his own over them and rubbed his thumbs soothingly across Stiles’ knuckles. 

Stiles would have liked to ask Derek for a hug, but he didn’t. The hugs from yesterday had come so naturally, and while Derek was still touching him today, Stiles didn’t know how to instigate the bonding thing, so he let Derek’s actions tell him when he could go further. He was totally getting more out of it than he should be, but when it was so good to be near Derek he ignored the fact he was taking advantage.

Even with Derek’s hands making him feel all warm, he wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding his growing anxiety. His dad had come home, taken in the situation, and wanted to call the whole thing off. For some reason, Stiles had said no. Why had he said no? There was his out. Fuck his inability to do the right thing by himself. He couldn’t do this!

Stiles’ dad was talking to Derek over his head, but Stiles wasn’t listening because something had just occurred to him.

Did he need to take his clothes off for this?

He placed his face on Derek’s hands and tried not to hyperventilate. 

His dad’s hand came down heavy on his head. “Breathe, Stiles.”

Stiles choked out a laugh. Damn breathing. Overrated. And okay, panic attack coming.

Derek gently turned one hand over until it was cupping his chin.

Stiles moved his head a little until he got comfortable and his cheek was resting against lovely solid warmth.

“Breathe, Stiles. In and out.”

Stiles wanted to laugh again, because, seriously? Telling him to breathe right now was not helping because he. couldn’t. breathe.

“Stiles.” Derek’s other hand was running through his hair. “You can do this. In, then out. Do you need to count?”

Stiles counted shakily, “One.” Breathed, and said, “Two.” Kept going until he got to five and was relatively calmer.

His dad murmured something about ‘fastest working technique’.

Derek removed his hand from Stiles’ head. He couldn’t contain the disappointed sound he made at its loss. Derek’s hand came back, slowly, gently. And when Stiles sighed into the touch, fingers started combing through his hair again, making his scalp tingle. It was like Derek’s hand was attached to a well of feel-good feelings and Stiles was just sucking them up through his pores. 

Scott had been wrong when he said it wasn’t a wolf power. It so was and Stiles wanted to bottle it. Mostly Derek’s because he was the most awesome, and then Stiles would have this feeling whenever he wanted it, which would be all the time because it felt so good. 

Had he told Derek how good it was? No, that would sound wrong, but he could tell him he appreciated it, right? That was still along the acceptable parameters of pack friends, right? 

Stiles snuggled his face into Derek’s hand and hummed a little. So good.

He made a sound of protest when he was suddenly moved, but then he was being picked up and held against Derek’s chest which he loved loved loved, so he sighed again and let Derek do whatever he wanted. Because he was awesome and Stiles loved being held by him.

“Shhh, Stiles.” Derek said, but Stiles wasn’t talking to anyone. 

“It’s getting worse. His emotions are all over the place. They change on a dime,” his dad observed.

“We’ll work it out. He’ll get better,” Derek said. 

Stiles rubbed his nose against Derek’s neck where it wasn’t covered by his shirt. So nice.

He was being placed down on something soft. His bed. He snuggled down into the well-known comfort and opened his eyes when Derek placed the blankets over him.

“You just need some sleep, Stiles. You’re still so tired and worked up over everything.” Derek brushed a hand over his forehead.

“All I do is sleep.” Stiles hated this. He was always falling asleep and waking up. It’s all he did anymore.

“Because you’re not as well as you think you are. So just sleep and rest.”

“Lydia.”

“Your dad will explain what happened and we’ll work something out. Sleep now, Stiles.”

“Not a child.”

“No. You’re Stiles, who needs sleep because his body and mind are exhausted.”

“No.”

Derek chuckled. “Always so stubborn.”

“No, ‘m not.”

 

***

 

Stiles woke up and rolled his head over on his pillow.

He resented the hell out of the fact that he was incapable of going one day home without apparently having a panic attack, or passing out, or falling asleep while people were over.

Derek was wrong. Stiles knew exactly how sick he was. He just didn’t want it to rule him. 

Checking the clock he found he’d slept for four hours. The morning was almost over and, he guessed, if they weren’t here already, Scott and Lydia would be arriving soon. 

He sat up slowly and found his cane. It was propped up against his bedside table and he grabbed it as he pushed his blankets off. He needed a shower. And a change of clothes. He’d only put his t-shirt and sweat pants on this morning but sleeping in them made Stiles feel gross. 

Someone had opened the window shades in his room. The sunlight was streaming in, moving towards him. Floating wisps of heat and air, beckoning to him as he stared.

He needed to touch them.

Stiles took off his shirt and stepped into the patch of sunlight.

 

***

 

Stiles was back at the Nemeton and the sun was shining brightly through the trees. The little zips of electricity in the air were stronger today and pricking his skin with tiny teeth. 

He could feel the pulse coming from the Nemeton, beating steadily in and out. It hadn’t gotten any stronger than the last time, which was a good thing. The idea of the Nemeton being able to grow that pulsing energy didn’t sit right with him.

He squinted at the Nemeton until he could make out the pulse. It was like a fog, edging and flowing like a tide being sucked back in then pushed out with each heart thump. It glowed from inside. Hypnotic. 

Stiles took a step forward, towards the tree. The pulsed swelled and reached for him. He stepped back so quickly he stumbled.

“Note to self: Stay away from the creepy breathing tree. Got it.”

“Well met, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles.”

This time, the form walked out from between the trees. There was the shape of legs moving and feet taking steps towards him, but it was still mostly condensed air that shifted and reformed over and over.

The touch-not-touch flittered across Stiles’ side and around his waist like a hug. For some reason, he didn’t find it off-putting this time.

Stiles had thought of little else last night; what to say, what could happen, what he could ask that would give him the information he needed. He’d done some intense Googling about fairy tropes and he had an idea what may help him.

“Well met,” he answered.

The form stopped when it was close to him, and they watched each other. The form had no face, but it didn’t need one. Stiles could feel its amusement, its curiosity. He didn’t get a feeling of outright evil and that had him relaxing a bit.

“Can we talk? Have a conversation? Sit and get to know each other?” he asked.

The form floated closer to the ground, legs crossing. Stiles sat too. The form waited. Stiles mentally went over some of the ‘rules’ he’d read last night. 

Be polite. Be forthright. Do not try to manipulate a fairy as they will take it as a personal insult.

He’d laughed when he read it. Because it summed him up. It’s how he wanted people to act towards him, even if he didn’t reciprocate. Even before all of this.

“You told me that you chose me. I know I’m not really human anymore. Everything is really confusing and I’d like you to clarify some things, if you will.” 

“We have been waiting for you to come back to us, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles. We will converse with you and enlighten where we may.”

“First, why call me that?” It bugged him.

“Because it is who you are. You are Stiles. But it is not your true name.”

That was also something that had struck a chord with him. In fairy law, names had power and to give yours meant you gave power over yourself to others. He’d been blessed with everyone calling him Stiles due to his first name being so difficult for non-Polish people.

“Yeah, um. Okay. First big question and I guess the most obvious. Are you Fae?” He was pretty sure, but really, why have doubts?

“Yes!” 

Stiles could feel its gleeful pride. He couldn’t help a small twitch of his mouth.

“What kind of fae are you?”

“The best kind! Wild! Untamed! Free! The wind! The rain! The sunlight! The earth!” The fae’s form shook and stretched like it was reaching up to the sky as it spoke.

Again, Stiles could feel the glee it had in being what it was. What it must feel like to be so secure, to feel happy to be who you were. He wanted that.

“Are you, do you … fuck.” 

“Yes, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles.”

“What? That’s not what I meant.” 

The fae laughed a delighted laugh and a touch slipped over Stiles’ hips. It went lower, inwards. He pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms across his knees.

“Don’t!” he warned. “Am I fae?”

“Yes. No.”

“Care to expand on that?”

“You are Chosen Fae, in midst of change. You are wild, but you are tame. You are becoming one of us, but you are not one of us. Not yet.” 

Stiles nodded. “I’m still changing. I’m not fully fae yet?” 

What more was going to happen to him? Was he going to start growing wings and sprinkle pixie dust everywhere? Was he going to turn into something like what he was talking with? Was he going to become so unrecognizable as to be a complete stranger to his dad, to his pack, to Derek?

“Yes.”

“How long will this change take?” 

“It would already be done but after we chose you, you disappeared. We could not find you. And now there is something that is slowing the change. It disrupts us to touch you.”

“Disrupts, like a magnetic field?”

Stiles had read up on iron too, trying to work out why it poisoned fae. The most believable he could find was maybe iron’s unique magnetic abilities did something to a fae’s body chemistry through something called ferromagnetism.

The fae’s form swirled and warped. “It pulls at us. Takes and moves. We can not come together.”

Stiles was quiet for a while. “I was kidnapped. I was poisoned by iron and almost died. I’m still sick, but getting better. I’ve been told it’s happening faster than it should, but I don’t know. To me it feels too slow.”

That was a confusing thing to admit. By human standards he was healing too quickly. But he’s still so weak and it shouldn’t be that way.

As Stiles had been talking, the fae in front of him had hissed and swayed towards him and back again. It had touched his face and he hadn’t even stopped talking. He was beginning to believe the fae wouldn’t hurt him. That it cared for him.

“Iron! Poisoned! Killed and sick!” The fae was furious but not at Stiles. “We will hurt the one who did it!” Its form became more solid, becoming a nose and an angry mouth, before they vanished into swirling air.

Stiles shouldn’t have been pleased by the fae’s reaction. He would work on that later. “No one knows where, or who, he is.”

“We will find him. Show us him.”

“How?” Stiles edged back as the fae come right up to his face. There was a bit of fear then. He was stupid for letting his guard down.

The fae’s air floated around Stiles’ head. “Let us in.”

At those words, just like what the Nogitsune had said to him, Stiles crab-crawled backwards as fast as he could. “Fuck! No! Not ever!” His heart was pounding so fast he could feel it in his chest like a hammer. It hurt.

The fae moved back again. “You are afraid of us?”

“Yes!”

“Why? We are the same.” 

Stiles could tell it was honestly confused. He couldn’t help the bit of sympathy that rose up in him.

“I’ll explain. Just, don’t come near me, okay?”

The fae didn’t move, so Stiles took a shaky breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay. I was possessed by a dark fox-spirit. It manipulated events so I had to let it inside my mind. It took over.”

He wiped a hand down his face. 

God. He’d never told anyone about that. Never had to say the words because everyone who needed to know had lived through it. It was still so much a part of him, what the Nogitsune had done. He may not feel so much guilt over everything as he used to, but he wouldn’t really be okay ever again.

The fae was quiet for so long after Stiles spoke that he had time to sit back and just take a second to centre himself.

“We found the dark around your heart.” The fae’s voice was soft, like it was concerned for Stiles. “We saw the Tree’s mark. But you say there is more?”

“Not anymore. We got rid of it. It’s gone.”

The fae swayed back and forth. “No.”

“No? What do you mean, no?” Stiles went very still. “It’s gone.”

“Do not be afraid. The fox is gone.” The fae whispered as it slowly moved closer to Stiles. The touch came back to his face, slid over his side, around his middle and floated away. “But possession leaves influence. We see it now.” The fae’s air form was right next to Stiles’ nose, touching quickly and softly around his cheeks. “The influence stayed. Fixed your deeper instincts. Turned you more tricky. Turned you more devious. We found you and celebrated at the pureness of your self. We chose you because you are so much like us. Fox helped to grow that in you.”

“I’m not a fox,” Stiles whispered. Tears gathered in his eyes. “I don’t want to feed on chaos and other people’s pain.”

“No. It is not you. It left only influence. It’s possible fox saw the trickster in you, too. Liked it as we do. Chose you for it. Was at home.”

“He felt a kin-ship with me?” Stiles wanted to vomit. He had to admit, he’d been curious. Why him? Why had the Nogitsune gone for him?

The easy answer was because he was the weak one out of the three of them: Alison, Scott and himself. He was easy pickings, and he’d been the curious one too, he’d opened the door instead of closing it. But he’d always guessed there had to be more. Now, perhaps he had that reason. But to find out it may have been because the Nogitsune saw something familiar, that his soul appealed to it? No!

Sure, he could admit there were times he had a dark thought or too, may have used his skills to get what he wanted. But it couldn’t be.

And yet, the Nogitsune had used his knowledge to hurt those he loved, because Stiles knew how to do it. He’d had it all there, waiting to be plucked out of him. He’d actually been thankful the Nogitsune had been focussing more on causing lingering chaos then ultimate death, or no one would have survived.

It was just like a fae would do. Just like he would do, if he had to. If pushed far enough. Stiles wasn’t a good person. He’d had people say it to his face more often than he liked. He’d joke about it, but really, he agreed.

He put out a hand and touched the fae where its chest should be. It was like putting his hand in warm water. He pushed. “Back off a little, yeah?” 

The fae swayed back to its original position. 

Stiles passed a hand wearily over his eyes. “Do you hurt people, humans, other beings?”

“Yes! But no.” The fae was moving like it wanted to touch him, but wasn’t. Which was strange because it had never held back before that Stiles could tell. “We are capable, like all. Sometimes we hurt because we don’t understand. Sometimes we hurt because we do!” Again there was a sliver of pride, quickly squashed.

Stiles was quiet.

People were always hurting others by accident. He hurt people all the time without meaning too. The fae was right that everyone was capable of it. Was the fae prideful, not because it hurt others but because it had the power to protect itself?

Stiles had felt that before.

It had been twisted to the Nogitsune’s need to feed off chaos and connecting emotions, but he acknowledged the pride it had that it could feed itself, keep itself alive. That it was powerful enough to do so for a thousand years. 

What if the fae was happy because it liked that side of itself; that it could keep itself safe if needed?

How could Stiles judge that, when he’d wanted it for himself? 

“Will I change so much that I won’t be me?” What he really meant was, would he change so much he wouldn’t care to try to be a good person anymore? But he couldn’t bring himself to say those words.

There was a touch, this time to his shoulder. He reached up and placed a hand there, the mist-like substance curled around his fingers for a quick second before drifting away. 

“Your were chosen because you are like us already. You have magic already. You are wild already. You are chaos and control. You run in nature. You know the world of us and the mortal one. You thrive on being curious and tricky. You are honorable. You are loyal. You are fully loved. You love fiercely. You were fae already in heart, mind and soul. We chose you, we change you, you are you.”

Well, he’d known that hadn’t he? Read the descriptions of fae and noted a resemblance to himself. It was just more pronounced now. Like he was becoming more himself. Even if there were parts of him that were more charged now than they’d been before the Nogitsune, it was still him deep down.

“I feel —”

“Yes, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles?”

“I feel right. I feel like me. Am I still me?”

“Yes. Only no.”

Stiles sighed again because this was a heavy load to work through. “Because now I am fae. Or will be. What does that mean? Am I going to start kidnapping people and make them dance in mushroom rings until their hearts give out?”

“What would you do, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles, if given the choice?”

“I don’t wan’t to kill anyone.”

But not wanting to was not the same as not capable of it.

“Then that is your choice.”

“I won’t suddenly become a murderer?”

“Unless you choose that path, no.” The fae’s form swirled and stretched lengthways, lying down on the ground. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Stiles lay down next to it. He had no fear of it anymore. At some point he’d come to accept that at least towards him, this fae had no hurtful intensions.

“So, being fae is open to interpretation, then?” He placed his head in his hand as he lay on his side.

“We are whatever we want to be,” the fae said, with obvious joy.

Stiles snorted out a laugh. Its high opinion of itself was appealing. “I said that to my friends. I am what ever I choose to be.”

Was he really? Could he really be? 

Stiles watched as the fae’s airy form started to stretch over towards him, as close as it had ever been. Not quite pressed up alongside him but so close that his skin had goosebumps. 

The moment was fixed. The atmosphere charged. It was just the fae and Stiles. 

A touch ran up his thigh, and he sucked in a breath.

He reached out a hand to where the fae’s face should have been. His fingers went into the condensed air. There was a human-shaped cheek and thin jaw line, a pointed chin and, when he tripped his fingers up a little, smooth flat lips that opened up under his fingertips. The mouth smiled and his fingers could feel sharp teeth, a tongue.

The mouth closed over his thumb, and Stiles moved forward slowly.

The mist closed over his face.

A hot lance of pain ripped down over his chest, and he screamed.

 

***


	6. The Picnic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deaton is still a jerk. Lydia is the planning queen. Stiles really doesn't get what's going on.

Stiles was lying on his bedroom floor with pain burning into his skin.

His chest was on fire; a deep burning that made him curl up on his side. There were hands on him and he shoved them off. He opened his eyes to Derek and his dad hovering over him. Scott and Lydia were by the foot of his bed.

There was movement behind him, and he turned his head. 

Deaton was kneeling on the rug, holding a metal rod in his hand.

Stiles cried out in fear and launched himself away, across the floor. He backed up against the window near his bed. He hunched up and tried to put his arms around his chest where the burning ached and throbbed. He couldn’t touch it, it hurt too much, so his hands hovered over the pain.

“Stiles, God, Stiles. Are you okay?” his dad asked in a choked voice.

“What’s he doing here?!” Stiles hissed out, shooting a hateful glance at Deaton as he placed the rod on the floor and put his hands on his knees.

Stiles’ dad answered quickly, “He pulled you out of whatever that was, Stiles! Derek found you. We thought you were going to have a heart attack. Deaton was the only one who had any idea what to do!”

“Only one?” Stiles glanced down at his chest and gaped at the red oozing welt of burnt skin slashed across it. Seeing it made the pain a hundred times worse. He went cold all over his body, except where the burn was. That was liquid agony. He didn’t know whether he was going to pass out or throw up. Possibly both, and in that order.

“We had no idea what to do,” Scott spoke up. 

“So you called that bastard?!” Stiles spat out, focusing on what was happening in the room, not on his chest. 

“Stiles! He helped you!” his dad reprimanded him. 

“He burnt me!” Stiles yelled. “Get the fuck out of my room! All of you!”

“Stiles, someone needs to check your burn, your vitals,” Deaton said.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him, furious. “You. Don’t. Talk. To. Me.” He sat forward, curling his lip in distaste.

A sensation swept over him as it had in the study yesterday, and suddenly the room was so much clearer to him than it had been before. The pain in his chest muted and the relief from it gave him a boost of energy.

“Stiles,” whispered Lydia and his dad at the same time.

He flicked a glance their way, and they reeled back like he’d struck them. 

Scott’s eyes bled red and he straightened up, like Stiles poised a threat.

Stiles sneered at him, and turned back to Deaton. “You burned me.” He crouched up onto his hands and toes. Deaton actually went a little pale as he carefully tracked Stiles’ movements.

Derek’s eyes were changing between his human green and wolf blue, flickering back and forth. He had his palms out, facing Stiles, showing he was not a threat.

“You were in trouble, the iron rod brought you back to consciousness.” Deaton edged back a little. 

Stiles saw red. “You put iron on me?!” He yelled furiously, and launched himself at Deaton.

He was caught easily by Derek, who shouted at everyone to get out of the room. Stiles fought against him, but for all his posturing, he really had no strength so he was quickly tiring. 

“Scott, pull the shades!” Derek cried out. 

Scott moved to the window and the room was plunged into semi-dark. He glanced at Stiles.

“You need to leave, Scott!” Derek urged him, as Stiles used his fingers to try to open Derek’s grasp. It might be a hopeless task but he wasn't giving up.

Scott wavered once more, and Stiles glared up at him. He stepped back and screwed his face up. “Bro,” he whispered, upset.

“Get out, Scott!” Derek yelled at him, and flung his arm over Stiles when he started to slip under Derek’s hold onto the floor.

Stiles was an eel, slippery and quick, even if he was weak and tired. The burn mark was screaming pain again, but nowhere near what it had been before. This he could deal with, even if it was hindering his escape.

Scott fled and shut the door behind him.

The resulting darkness was soothing, and when Stiles’ last bit of energy trickled out, he finally stopped struggling in Derek’s hold. He was on his back, up against Derek who held him by wrapping an arm around his lower torso, pining his arms at the elbows. Derek also had a leg around Stiles’ thighs. For all his strength, he was holding him gently.

Stiles dropped his head back onto Derek’s shoulder and rolled it until it rested against his neck. He could hear Derek making soothing noises and closed his eyes. He didn’t have any energy left to hold himself up and he slumped back into Derek, who took his weight like it was nothing. Which, sadly, was true.

They sat like that for a long while, Derek eventually unwrapping his leg from across Stiles. His arm stayed around Stiles’ waist, below the burn, a long line of welcome solid comfort that worked against the burn's constant ache.

Stiles put his own arm across Derek’s so he wouldn’t move any time soon.

Stiles dozed on and off, the pain from the burn making him drowsy, and the feeling that came from being so close to Derek acting like a numbing agent. 

“You okay?” Derek asked, softly, some time later.

After a significant pause, Stiles simply replied, “No.”

“Can I help?” Derek turned his head, his lips moving against Stiles’ hairline. 

Such a simple question, but it let Stiles know he was the one who would choose what happened next. Stiles loved him a little more for it.

If he was stronger, he’d push Derek away. The talk with the fae had highlighted how very wrong he was as a person. How very screwed up and bad he was. He had the influence of the Nogitsune inside him, as part of him. He was marked by a magical tree that was possibly slightly evil. He was also changing into a fae, whatever that meant. He’d always been a bad person. His mother had seen it. The Nogitsune had seen it. The fae saw it. Even the man who’d kidnapped him had seen it. Every thing about him was bad.

He loved Derek, and if he was a better person he’d tell him to go away. But Stiles wasn’t a good person. He wasn’t strong.

He wanted Derek, and so he said, “Yes. Please.” 

Derek sighed in relief.

 

***

 

Stiles had known for a while that it was possible he could get angry enough to kill someone.

He’d done some deep introspection after Donovan. That time had been panic-induced self-defense, but Stiles figured he had some major darkness inside him that, when coupled with his temper and the right situation, could possibly lead him to going too far. This knowledge was like a stone which Stiles tried to bury. If he buried it deep enough, he’d never face it. Being capable of something didn’t mean he wanted to do it. 

While he rested, he told Derek to make sure Deaton didn’t come near him. He didn’t want to explain why it was important, even though it would make his dad and the pack wonder what was going on. The fact that Deaton had used iron on him made Stiles hate him on a very personal level.

Derek had told him how scared they’d all been when he’d found Stiles lying on the floor with his eyes open, covered in a sheen of sweat. He’d been burning up and his heart was beating way too fast to be safe. Derek had tried to wake him but couldn’t. His dad had wanted to call an ambulance, but Lydia had calmed everyone down slightly by figuring out he wasn’t responding because his spirit was astral projecting.

Scott had called Deaton, and the druid had arrived with different items to help bring Stiles back.

Apparently there was a risk that the longer Stiles’ soul stayed away, the harder it would be to get him back into his body.

Deaton had tried a few things; burning herbs, laying crystals on the carpet around Stiles, but nothing worked. That’s when he’d brought out the iron rod. Derek hadn’t wanted Deaton to use it. Unfortunately, he’d been outvoted and because the sheriff was getting antsy, Derek had conceded.

As soon as Deaton had placed the iron against Stiles’ skin it had burned him, and he’d screamed and woken up.

Eventually remembering he’d wanted a shower, Stiles had crawled out of Derek’s grasp, retrieved his cane and gathered some clothes. He’d then walked slowly down the hall to the bathroom. 

At the moment, he was sitting on the floor of the shower, washing himself gently. Standing on slippery surfaces wasn’t a good idea. He was fine sitting though, he just had to pull and angle the shower nozzle to where he’d need it and turn it on before he got in. 

He rubbed his hands through his hair and looked down at the burn mark. It had stopped feeling like it was trying to worm its way into his chest cavity as soon as he’d gotten water on it. It was still nasty; a red welt of raised hot flesh which throbbed with every beat of his heart, but it could have been a lot worse than it was.

The burn stood out starkly against his chest. Stiles pressed a finger into one of the faded bruises which surrounded it. His bruises were healing exceptionally fast and were almost completely gone. His fingernails were growing quickly too. His hands were relatively normal looking.

“The wind, the rain, the sunlight, the earth.” he mumbled, pondering how he healed.

He touched the burn gently.

The water from his shower had done a remarkable job. If iron poisoned fae, could the elements heal them? Had the sunlight been fixing him? Sometimes in the hospital, he’d removed his bedsheets so he could lay in the light because it felt nice. What if his body had been telling him what he needed to get better?

Stiles leant back against the wall.

If water would help his healing, he was all for staying in the shower longer than normal. It also had the benefit of delaying the inevitable showdown with his dad and the others because there was no way they were going to ignore what had happened, and he was pissed at them for allowing him to get burned.

The longer he thought about his burn, the more angry he became. Deaton better stay far away from him or Stiles wasn’t sure he’d be able to contain himself.

 

***

 

Stiles entered the living room and found everyone, except Deaton, waiting for him.

He crossed his legs under him on the couch, acutely aware that his dad, Lydia and Scott were particularly perplexed. He was used to that, but the wariness he was also picking up on was something only the possession had given him experience of. Derek was the only one who was fine with him. He was sitting near Stiles, turned towards him with his arm along the couch, his hand near Stiles’ head. He passed Stiles a mug of hot tea.

Stiles took the drink, smiled in thanks at Derek, and frowned at everyone else. “Does someone want to explain why you’re all acting like I committed a crime?”

“You honestly don’t know?” Scott asked. 

“Would I be asking if I did?”

“Possibly,” Scott answered.

Derek’s fingers started to rub the hairs on the back of Stiles’ head. Other than that, Derek didn’t move.

Stiles took a breath.

There was something in the act that screamed secrecy and intimacy that all of Derek’s public touching did not. It stirred something in him. Derek’s wolf mojo was at work again as the now-familiar warmth travelled from his fingers into Stiles’ scalp and down his back to furl at the base of his spine. If he could spend the rest of his life being touched by Derek like this, he’d give up a hell of a lot to be able to have it.

He zoned out a little, focussing on Derek’s fingers while he sipped his tea.

“You doing okay, Stiles?” asked his dad. It sounded like a pretty loaded question and Stiles didn’t think he was asking about the burn.

“Yeah?” Stiles answered.

Lydia took a few tentative steps towards him. “Heightened emotions are part of PTSD. It’s also a part of iron poisoning. Plus, with you being fae it’s pretty obvious you’re dealing with some big changes, like what we just saw. They can take time to get used to.”

“Okay?” Stiles was getting seriously confused. Lydia sounded like she was trying to explain his behaviour. It was very simple, he was angry at being branded by an iron rod.

“What happened, son? Before Deaton came?” his dad pressed.

Stiles bit his bottom lip, not sure what to tell them. “I was meditating.” That sounded less intense than astral projecting. 

“You didn’t tell us it was a risk to your health.”

Stiles tried not to glare at his dad, already getting defensive.

“I’d prefer you didn’t do them anymore,” his dad continued.

“That’s not up to you.” Stiles couldn’t explain that by speaking to the fae he was learning what was going on with him. He needed to keep going, there was so much he still didn’t understand.

Derek interrupted the stand-off Stiles and his dad had going. “What if I’m with Stiles when he does them?”

“I don’t need a babysitter!” Stiles fumed.

“How will you bring him out of it?” Lydia asked, completely ignoring him.

“I can bring him out without hurting him,” Derek replied. “He’ll hear me.”

Stiles was exasperated. “Is anyone going to listen to my view on this?”

“No,” his dad said, flatly. Then, before Stiles could argue the point, he asked Derek, “If you’re so sure he will hear you, why didn’t it work this time?”

Stiles had a pretty good idea why it hadn’t. He hadn’t wanted to leave the preserve, or the fae. But seeing as no one was listening to him anyway, he wasn’t going to offer any information. Screw them.

“It’s so dangerous,” his dad said, when Derek couldn’t offer a plausible reason.

“Nothing was wrong!” Stiles managed to get in. “Lydia told you I was just somewhere else.”

His dad flung out his hands. “Where, back at the Nemeton? And what, your soul just goes for walks now without your body?!” 

Stiles pressed his lips shut and narrowed his eyes.

There was a strange feeling inside him, and the room gained a visual clarity like it had when he’d tried to attack Deaton. Everything was crisper, sharper, more defined. He had all the time in the world to focus on every detail, and yet he was only interested in his dad, who had to understand he needed to step back and let Stiles do what was needed.

His dad shuffled away from Stiles, edging back into his chair.

That made Stiles pause.

What was going on that everyone acted like he scared them? Didn’t they know he wasn’t going to hurt them?

“Stiles?” Lydia asked, apprehensively.

Stiles looked at her, and the strange sensation inside him melted away and the room lost its defined edge.

“What about your kidnapping? Has anyone talked to you about that?”

Stiles stilled, then, with reluctance, shook his head. “Not since I’ve been home.”

“Scott told us the reason you were taken was because of this,” Lydia waved her hand to incorporate all of him. “Is that true?”

Stiles turned his head away. “I can’t.”

He hoped they’d take that to mean he couldn’t talk to them because it was fae related. Not because of his reluctance to speak about anything to do with the abduction.

“So Scott was right. And true fae characteristic right there, I suppose,” Lydia mused, tapping her fingernail against her bottom lip.

Everyone waited for her to explain.

She sighed. “I looked up things about fae, of course. Stiles displays the classic signs. Secretive, easy to anger, won’t give out personal information if he can help it, that kind of thing.” She shrugged. “Although, he was already kind of like that before. It was possibly one of the reasons he was chosen.” Lydia smiled thinly. “It’s suggested that fae tend to take those who display traits that they like. A lot of children get taken because they’re playful and full of curiosity. Am I right, Stiles?”

“Maybe.” Stiles was feeling uncomfortable. Lydia’s synopsis was jarringly correct. He shifted uneasily. 

Derek rubbed his hand against the back of his neck, and Stiles suddenly twigged as to what was going on. Derek deliberately used his touch to keep him calm, knowing exactly what it did to him.

Stiles stiffened under his hand.

Honestly, he was stupid for not having worked it out sooner.

He took a sip of his tea and grimaced, because it had cooled somewhat, but drank it down anyway in a couple of gulps.

“It’s time for a late lunch. Picnic out the back?” Lydia suggested. 

Stiles watched his dad stand up and leave the living room. His heart sank. He was in for a rough time trying to fix what was going on between them.

“Stiles?”

“Um. Sure? I guess?” He hadn’t spent any time outside since he’d come home. Not including the car ride from the hospital. Actually, he hadn’t since he was taken. That was about three months ago. Wow. Suddenly he needed to be outside almost desperately. “Yes, picnic, I can totally get behind that.” 

Scott helped him stand and handed him his cane. “Good thing we bought a heap load of stuff just for that, then!” 

Lydia asked Derek to help him get the picnic ready, and left Scott in the living room with Stiles. 

Stiles grabbed Scott’s arm. “Dude, I’m sorry for being so different, angry and —”

“Jerkish?”

Stiles deserved that. “Yeah.” He bit his bottom lip. “It may help if,” he paused.

“What? Tell me. I’ll do it.”

Scott was so earnest in his offer, even after everything, that Stiles just leaned in and hugged him. He tensed up for a second before he hugged back.

Stiles kept his arms around Scott and spoke into his shoulder, “Can you please just keep being my best bro? I mean, I know it’s not easy right now, but I really do need you and I don’t want you to think that we’re not okay, ‘cause we are, but I need a friend.”

Scott interrupted him by squeezing him even tighter in their hug and saying, “Stiles, I’m not ever going to stop being your best friend. I’ve already made that mistake once. It’s you and me forever, alright? Just as it’s always been. I get that you’re going through some really tough things right now. Just, however you need me to help you, let me know.”

Stiles relaxed at hearing Scott’s words. “Thank you,” he told him.

“No worries, man.”

 

***

 

Lydia, with Derek and Scott’s help, had set up a masterful picnic area.

Stiles stood on the back porch, watching Lydia direct her two servants until she was satisfied. He admired her leaderships skills. She had Scott pulling out blankets and pillows, arranging them under the minimal shade of the big old sycamore tree that grew in the backyard. As more and more pillows miraculously showed up, Stiles started to guess, and then was positive, that most of them weren’t from his house. They didn’t have huge Italian pillows with sheer coverings. 

The blankets were his though. So many blankets. The Stalinskis were a blanket family. Stiles himself had a variety just in his bedroom alone. The hall closet was full of them. It was something his mom had instilled in him, and even now he’d buy a new one if he liked it. 

Scott used to tease him about it, and Stiles felt a smug satisfaction when Scott came out of the house carrying an armful. “Shut up, Stiles,” he complained good-naturedly at him. 

Stiles laughed, “I’d help, but you know, being the cripple and all.” 

Derek frowned over at Stiles from where he was throwing out the edges of a blanket while Lydia directed. 

Stiles pointed at Scott. “His words.” 

Derek switched his glare to Scott.

“Hey! You said them!” Scott huffed, and dropped his load at Derek’s feet.

“I said I wasn’t one! You said I was, by the very definition of it!” 

Stiles smiled in satisfaction when Scott held up his hands in defense as Derek’s glare grew more pronounced.

“By the very definition, you know you are, Stiles,” Lydia stopped the argument short. She dared Derek to glare at her, one eyebrow raised and her mouth in a thin line. 

Derek dropped his eyes back to the blanket, and Stiles sniggered. When Lydia switched her attention onto him, he cursed under his breath. Scott laughed and even Derek looked suitably amused.

“You can ask your dad if he’s joining us, Stiles. Unless your poor cripple body isn’t up to it?”

Stiles’ mouth dropped open. He scratched the back of his neck. And turned to the back door. “You both suck. Just so you know,” he said softly, aware Derek and Scott would hear him.

Scott’s laughter got louder.

Stiles found his dad in the kitchen. He’d been helping by putting the food Scott and Lydia had bought over onto platters.

Stiles did a double-take at the huge pile of food on the table and then at his dad. 

His dad shrugged. “Lydia.” 

“I didn’t even know we had platters.” Stiles picked up a bite sized sandwich, “What’s this? Food for mice?”

“We don’t have platters. Those came with Lydia. And I don’t know. Lydia said she got the food from some new cafe that caters.”

“Lydia brought catering food to a picnic I didn’t know we were having? And who else is coming? A whole gridiron team?” He wasn’t kidding; the table was practically groaning under the weight of tiny sandwiches, sliced meat rolls, pasta salads, and things Stiles had no name for.

“Pretty close, actually,” Scott spoke up behind him, and Stiles yelped. Scott snickered, his amusement growing when Stiles glared at him. “Lydia’s got everyone coming. The whole pack.”

“Cool,” Stiles nodded. They hadn’t all been together since before he was taken. “Dad, Lydia wants to know if you’re going to be joining us,” he asked.

“Nah. I’m going down to the station. There’s some things I want to go over.” His dad had his back towards Stiles and didn’t turn around. 

Stiles dropped his head a little, and Scott put his hand on his shoulder in commiseration. “Oh. Okay.”

“I’m going now, actually. See you guys later.” His dad waved absently and walked out. 

Scott and Stiles stayed in the kitchen, listening to him grab his keys and go out the front door. When it shut, Stiles deflated a bit more. Scott squeezed his shoulder with the hand he hadn’t moved away. 

“He’s having a rough time of it,” Scott said.

“I know. I messed up. I’m a bad son.” Stiles wasn’t even joking. 

“Nah, man. Just talk it out. You guys are close. This is just hard on you both.”

Stiles had to pause for a second, take that in. “Since when did you get good at giving advice?”

“I’ve been working on my relationship skills since mom told me females like words. She was talking about something specific, but it applies here. Everyone needs to talk to each other more. The things that aren’t said can cause more harm than those that are.”

Stiles took a long hard look at his friend. “Taylor Swift?” he eventually guessed.

Scott shook his head. “Mother Teresa. But I’m paraphrasing.”

“Huh.”

 

***

 

Stiles was worried about going outside and stepping into the sunlight now there was a chance his spirit might take a leave of absence from his body without him meaning to.

He was standing on the edge of the back porch, trying to walk over to the picnic area before everyone else arrived and there were more witnesses. 

Lydia and Scott were carrying a long plastic outdoor table from the side of the house which Stiles didn’t even remember being there. He could hear Lydia telling Scott to find a hose because it needed to be cleaned.

The Stilinski yard backed onto a fire break that changed into a wood which eventually joined the preserve. Between the break and the house there were a line of trees on three sides of the yard. There were neighbors on either side and one slightly behind near the firebreak, but the trees in Stiles’ yard hid them all from view. He’d always liked the fact he felt like he was in the forest without having to take more than a few steps from his house. 

Lydia had chosen the huge old sycamore tree for their picnic area. Being deciduous it was hardly more than wide branches right now, allowing the sun to shine through while still giving shade. It never failed to make Stiles think of his mom as she’d loved lying under it.

Derek came up and touched his elbow. “Want to try with a little help?”

“How do you do that?” Stiles asked.

“What?” Derek frowned. 

“Know exactly what to say to me? Or even that I need help?”

Derek didn’t answer right away. He seemed to be considering something before he offered, “It’s like I said. I’m taking the time to get to know you better.”

Stiles turned back to face the yard. “Well in case you required an update, you’re doing really well. You’re getting top scores in attentiveness and caring for the sick and injured. And you get a huge gold star for the ability to calm me down with just a touch.” Stiles slid his eyes over and watched Derek from under his lashes.

Derek blanched a tiny bit. “It seems to work for you, that’s all. There’s even a therapy on it. Do you want me to stop?”

“God, no. I mean, I considered it.” Stiles was still side-eying him and watched Derek’s frown deepen. “But then, I need something that calms me down when I’m being an ass or just having a plain old panic attack. Plus, I’d be an idiot to give up on it. Seriously, you could make money from how good it feels. You have super wolfy powers, dude.”

“That’s not a thing, Stiles. It’s just tactile comforting.”

Stiles cringed internally hearing Derek say that. Of course that’s all it was to him. He waved a hand dismissively, “So say you and Scott, but I’ve felt it. It’s more than that and it is awesome.”

Derek blew out an exasperated breath, “I’m telling you that I don’t have the power to make you feel good through touch, Stiles.”

Stiles snorted loudly. “Derek, do you really want to admit to that? If true, you need to practice on yourself more. Self love, dude, it’s the only way to know how you like it. Makes you a better lover, so it’s the gift that keeps on giving.” 

Scott called Stiles over for help with the hose as it wouldn’t roll back into the reel house. 

Stiles clasped his hand on Derek’s shoulder and grinned at Derek being lost for words. “Let me know how you go with that. I can give you pointers if you need it.” He walked away, sinking his cane in the grass for stability.

He felt the sun on his skin and smiled. He was out in full sunlight and hadn’t taken a dive into astral projection. 

Well, good for him.

 

***

 

For a late lunch picnic set up in a relatively short period of time, Stiles had to hand it to Lydia. She was the planning queen. The picnic table was overflowing with catered food and drink. There were blankets and pillows under the sycamore. There was music too, curtesy of Lydia’s phone and a set of portable speakers.

Stiles was sitting back against the sycamore’s truck, surrounded by an impressive amount of pillows, wrapped in a blanket. He didn’t need the blanket, he wasn’t feeling cold and the afternoon sun was shining through the tree branches, but he’d been outnumbered and wrapped up before he could argue. It was a thing everyone wanted to do to him now. Both the ignoring his wishes and the coddling.

Liam had arrived with Mason and Hayden, as Lydia had been putting the last platters on the table. It had taken Stiles a moment to remember Hayden was leaving in a week. He’d completely forgotten. He hadn’t really spoken to Hayden for a long time, so he beckoned her over.

She extracted herself from Liam’s grasp and came over to sit by him.

“Hey, Hayden.”

“Hey, Stiles, you’re looking better.” She gave him a once over and held out a bottle of water to him.

“Hmm, not so much ‘Night of the Living Dead’ anymore,” Stiles smiled, and took the water from her. “Thanks.”

Hayden grinned. “You know, Liam told me about Mason’s comment in the hospital. He was furious about it.” She tilted her head in Liam’s direction, checking he wasn’t listening in. “Liam looks up to you. You’re someone he wants to be like.”

Stiles was a bit surprised that Hayden was telling him this. “Liam wants to be like me? You’re kidding?” He shook his head. A role model? No way. Liam was delusional.

“Do you blame him? You’re one of the cool guys, Stiles.” He scoffed at that, and Hayden nodded quickly, “You are.”

“Where were you and Liam when I was a junior? Could have used a fan-club back then.” He really didn’t believe her.

“Well you’ve got one now.” Hayden pushed her fingers through the grass. “You helped Liam, you know? You taught him stuff, backed him up when he needed it. You even spoke up for him when Scott didn’t agree he was ready to do a full moon on his own.”

“Scott wasn’t all that worried. He just needed someone to tell him what he already knew.”

“And that someone was you. You mean a lot to Liam. I’m really glad he has Mason, and Scott, and you. He’s been through a lot and you know how to deal with it.”

Stiles was at a loss. He’d never thought about how it must be for Liam. It was also nice to hear he was looked up to, crazy though the idea was. He gestured, “You two are really close, huh? I mean, obviously, but you share a lot.” 

“Yeah. It’s important.” Hayden smiled softly, then her lips pulled down. “Did you know I hated Liam for the longest time, over something pretty stupid?”

“I know a bit about it.” 

“Well, all the stuff with the Dread Doctors and wham! I was totally in love with him,” Hayden smiled.

“Did you ever,” Stiles trailed off. He was watching Derek grab two plates and start to go over the food choices. Stiles smiled and held back a chuckle at the disgust Derek had when he spied the little sandwiches.

“What, Stiles?” Hayden followed his gaze. 

“I’m not saying it is, but, did you ever think you felt that way only because of the stuff you went through? Being bitten?”

Hayden nodded like she got what he was trying to say. “Well, I guess it’s part of it. When we got closer, it all worked out.” Hayden tipped her head over at Derek who was now talking to Lydia by the food table. “You worried about something?”

Stiles sucked in a breath.

Hayden poked him in the knee through his blanket. “I only know certain things because Scott told Kira and she told Malia and Malia has a big mouth. Don’t freak out.”

Stiles silently agreed that Malia did in fact have a big mouth. And so did Scott. And Kira.

“I haven’t told anyone,” Hayden added.

Derek wondered over with his plates filled with food. He sat down near Stiles on the other side to Hayden, and handed a plate to him which Stiles took with surprise.

Hayden rolled her eyes. She stood up to get her own food.

Stiles looked down at his plate. “Thanks, Derek. Um, what is that?”

Most of the things on his plate, he could recognise. Fruit, vegetable pasta, a couple of lettuce leaves rolled up over some kind of rice filling. But Stiles had pointed to a green dip-like thing. It looked like phlegm and he had no desire to touch it, let alone eat it.

Derek sighed, “I know, it looks disgusting. Lydia said it had a mix of milk and other things which are good for you. She made me put it on your plate.” 

Stiles made a noise of disgust. “I appreciate you getting me food, but I’m not eating it.” He unwrapped a lettuce leaf roll and placed the leaf over the dip. 

Scott and the others had grabbed their own plates and had been dropping down to sit on the blankets and relax against the pillows. 

Lydia sat down across from Stiles and pointed a fork at him over her own plate. “You are going to eat it. I’ve been doing research on Hemochromatosis and that bean-mix has non-heme iron in it and calcium from the milk. I had it specially made for you.”

“You had someone make me snot dip?” Stiles asked. 

Liam and Mason laughed.

“No, I had a bean paste made to go with the vegetable sticks that Derek also put on your plate. The dip will help you with your iron levels.” 

Stiles wanted to continue arguing with her, but she’d researched to help make him better. And had food made for him.

He lifted the lettuce leaf back off the stuff, and sighed, “Thanks, Lyds.” 

Mason spoke up, “That’s it?” 

Stiles shrugged at him, and scooped up a forkful of salad. Scott started snickering, and Kira nudged him in the side with her elbow. Liam gave Mason an expectant grin.

Mason was not happy with Stiles’ response. “You’re just going to eat it?” At Stiles’ nod, Mason groaned, “I thought for sure you’d get out of it!”

He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet. He handed a ten dollar bill over to Liam who took it without a word and shoved it in his jeans. He was grinning around a mouthful of food, and Hayden was laughing softly at Mason, shaking her head at him.

Stiles’ eyebrows rose. “What’s this?”

Lydia threw Mason and Liam an exasperated stare. “They found out about the foods I had prepared for you. Took bets on whether you’d actually eat them. I warned Mason, but he didn’t listen.”

“Oh. “ Stiles smiled pityingly over at Mason. “Too bad for you, you didn’t consider the fact I love Lydia too much not to understand when she’s being awesome despite me, not to spite me.” 

Kira and Scott groaned at his word play, but Lydia had brightened considerably at Stiles’ words.

He blew her a kiss. Then he stopped. “Wait. Foods? There’s more?” 

Everyone but Lydia laughed at him. “I put them in your fridge.” 

Stiles opened his mouth, then shut it. 

Lydia smiled. “You’re welcome.”

 

***

 

It was almost the end of the picnic, it hadn’t lasted too long. They’d started late and most of them had school tomorrow. Hayden, Liam and Mason had left because they each had a curfew. After a phone call from her mom, Kira had apologized, being somewhat embarrassed, and left too.

Malia and Stiles were snuggling under the blankets. Malia had stollen Scott’s phone earlier and the two of them were creating new titles for Scott’s music lists. They were giggling quietly because they’d changed the names to things like: “Sucky Boy Bands that only True Alphas Could Love.” And “Wolf-Pain Music.” 

Stiles had just typed in: “Music to Howl to the Moon By”, which set him off laughing again, imagining Scott’s annoyance when he worked out what they’d done. 

There was a cough above them, and lifted their heads from where they were hiding the phone between them.

“Yes? May we help you?” Stiles asked Derek, still giggling a little. 

Derek had a smile playing around the corner of his mouth. He squatted down and said quietly, “You may want to finish up.” He tilted his head in Scott’s direction who was checking his pockets like he was searching for something.

Malia scrunched up her nose in annoyance, which Stiles still thought was adorable, and slid out from under the blanket, taking Scott’s phone with her. She ambled over to the food table and, as she asked Lydia if she needed help with the platters, deftly placed Scott’s phone down. She then took the trays Lydia pointed out to her and followed her into the house.

“She’s a smooth operator,” Stiles sang under his breath, and Derek chuckled. Stiles had a sudden thought. “Do you have your phone?” He held out his hand expectantly towards Derek.

“No way.” Derek shook his head. 

Stiles hurried to explain, “I left mine somewhere. You can watch what I’m doing. I just want to check some dates.”

Derek squinted and then sighed when Stiles continued to hold out his hand. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it over to Stiles. He then moved over and lifted up the blanket edge to sit where Malia had been. 

Stiles ignored the fact that Derek’s side was touching all along his. He did huff a little when Derek leant over. “Trust me much?” Stiles opened up the calendar app and scrolled through it.

“I’m just curious. What do you need to check?” 

Stiles was silent, working out dates. “Holy shit,” he breathed out.

“What?” Derek asked him.

“I missed Lydia’s eighteenth birthday. It was six days ago.” Stiles turned to Derek. “She didn’t say anything!” 

Derek grabbed Stiles’ leg when he shifted to get up. His hand had landed above Stiles’ knee and made Stiles swallow and stay still. “You should talk to her about it later on.”

Stiles had to take a moment before asking, “Why?”

“What were you doing specifically on her birthday?”

“I was, oh. I’d just come home. Did she do it because of me?”

Derek hadn’t moved his hand either up or down Stiles’ leg, but squeezed it and rubbed his thumb in a circle. Stiles tried to ignore the warmth that was sinking into him from the touch. “It’s not your fault. Lydia makes her own choices.” Derek squeezed his leg again.

Stiles scrunched up his mouth. “Okay.”

“Okay? You’re agreeing with me?” Derek raised an eyebrow.

“I agree with you a lot, actually.” Stiles took a chance and leant against Derek’s side. When Derek allowed it and didn’t move his hand, Stiles counted it as a win. “I may not have when we first met, but now it’s different. You’ve grown, I’ve grown, there’s been a whole lot of growing.” 

Derek chuckled, and rubbed his thumb against Stiles’ knee again.

After a pause, where he clenched his jaw to stop from shivering at Derek’s touch, Stiles continued, “So what should I do? Lydia deserves something amazing to celebrate her birthday.”

Derek said nothing but shifted until his own leg was pressed up against Stiles, trapping his thumb between them. His fingers were still splayed out on Stiles' inner thigh. 

Stiles rested his head back on the tree truck. He blinked, and thought about Lydia. “Oh! We could give her a surprise party! Just a small one, because she enjoys them a whole lot more than the huge parties she always thought she had to give.”

Derek leaned his head back next to Stiles and turned to face him. Stiles resolutely stared straight ahead. He could feel Derek’s eyes tracing his face. “What?”

“If you ever second-guess why we go out of our way for you, you’re an idiot,” Derek said quietly.

“Huh?”

“You believe you’re alone. Or deserve to be. That you’ve done stuff that makes you a bad person.”

Stiles had a moment of shock, hearing Derek voice his internal feelings. Yet again, Derek was proving just how perceptive he could be. “How do you know that?” 

“I had those same thoughts for a long time,” Derek admitted. “It’s in your eyes. In your body language. It’s like looking at myself sometimes.”

“Technically, you’ve been hanging out with me for a total of two days, so you can’t have worked all that out so quickly. And you’re wrong about you, you’re not a bad person and you have all of us.”

Stiles wanted to say Derek had him.

“I know that now, but it took me a while to figure it out. And I’ve been paying attention to you for longer than two days. Since we first met, actually. You’re hard to ignore, you make sure of it.” Derek squeezed his leg again. “You have us, too, you know, Stiles. We do all the things we do because we love you.”

Stiles wasn’t sure if he was actually capable of breathing anymore. He’d stopped somewhere around Derek saying he’d been paying attention to him the entire time he’d known him. When Derek included himself in the group of people who loved him, he was sure his heart stopped working, too.

He blinked and leaned away, shifting until Derek had to move his hand off his leg. He didn’t know what to say because he was struck by a longing so fierce all he wanted to do was kiss Derek and hold him and not let go.

He pulled back the blankets, grabbed his cane and stood up shakily. He couldn’t walk right away as he had to stretch out the muscles in his back and legs. 

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice was unsure.

“We should take in the pillows and blankets. Help Lydia.” Stiles bent slowly and picked up one huge pillow. He couldn’t manage anything else without falling over or dropping it.

Derek stood up and touched his elbow. Stiles didn’t move away.

“Thank you. For what you said.” Stiles told him. He didn’t want Derek believing him a complete dick. It wasn’t his fault Stiles was having this problem. “I’m, I don’t, it’s not.” He gave up trying to explain without telling Derek how he felt about him. He sighed sadly. His feelings for Derek were going to stuff up their friendship.

Derek was quiet, and Stiles hugged the pillow to his chest one handed while he clenched his cane in the other and leant on it awkwardly.

“Stiles. I’m sorry if what I said made you uncomfortable.”

“No. It didn’t. You were being kind and I’m,” Stiles stopped himself again. He wanted to say ‘stupid’ but Derek would ask why he was. He had to move now, his legs were having issues and he didn’t want to fall over while Derek was there. He wasn’t sure if Derek would pick him up and carry him and he didn’t know which would be worse right then; Derek carrying him, or deciding not to. 

Stiles took a wobbly step and leant against his cane heavily. If he took it slow, he should be okay. He took another step and tilted sideways.

Before he could so much as register he was going to fall, Derek had his hand back on Stiles’ elbow and was steadying him. He let go when Stiles was stable. Neither of them said anything. 

Stiles managed to make it back inside still carrying Lydia’s pillow, and handed it to Scott who took it out to Lydia’s car. He then sat down in the living room and massaged his calf muscles, grimacing as they twinged in complaint.

Derek continued to help Lydia and Scott and soon almost everything was packed up apart from a few blankets and the picnic table. 

Stiles was still contemplating things when Scott said he’d call him tomorrow when he could. Lydia was next and Stiles hugged her extra hard. “Sorry for being me, Lyds. And thank you, for being you.” 

Lydia pulled back and shook her head. “Let’s make a deal. You stop being mean so you don’t have to feel like you need to apologize all the time and I’ll continue being the friend who loves you.”

“Deal.” 

As Lydia left, Stiles’ dad came home. Not wanting to deal with that particular problem just then, Stiles excused himself and went to his room, saying his was tired. He could feel the eyes of both his dad and Derek on him but he didn’t acknowledge either of them.

When he got to his bedroom, Stiles grabbed some comics from a pile and sat down at his desk. 

 

***

 

There was something about the placement of Stiles’ room that made it possible to hear conversations from the back porch very clearly if his desk window was open. 

Stiles had used this fact more than once to listen to his mom and dad after they’d sent him to bed. Sometimes in the warmer months, they’d sit outside talking. He would leave his window open to hear their voices as he fell asleep.

Derek called his dad’s name from outside. Derek and his dad had been bringing in the remaining blankets and had moved the picnic table back around the side of the house.

Stiles had a few seconds to make a decision. Either he left his room, shut the window, or listened in.

He stayed sitting at his desk, the comic he’d been flipping through held in slack fingers.

“Noah, I just wanted to say sorry for this morning. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” Derek trailed off.

Stiles frowned. What happened this morning? He’d missed something. 

Stiles’ dad sighed loudly. It was the ‘God Help Me that I Have to Have this Conversation’ sigh. Stiles was very familiar with it. “Don’t worry about what I think, Derek.”

“But it wasn’t —”

“Oh, I know what it was and what it wasn’t. Do you want to talk to me about this?”

“No. Not really,” Derek confessed.

“Okay. Let’s keep it real simple. I know what’s it like to be in your situation. I dealt with Stiles’ mom, remember? She drove me nuts.” He chuckled like it pained him. “What’s really funny is that he’s ignorant right now. Imagine when he works out what’s going on.” 

Derek made a helpless sound, and Stiles frowned harder. This was a confusing but interesting conversation. 

“I’d pity you, Derek, but you chose this. You had plenty of time to back out and you didn’t. Do the right thing. Don’t hurt him. He’s had too much pain in his life already.”

What exactly was Stiles hearing here? He guessed it was about him. His dad wouldn’t use that tone or those words about anyone else. 

“I can’t promise that, Noah. The world doesn’t work like that. But I can promise it will never be on purpose. And if it happens, I’ll do my best to fix it.” 

“That’s a good answer,” his dad said dryly.

“I’ve thought about it.”

“I know. And that helps me to be more comfortable with this than I normally would be. That and the fact you helped, and are still helping. This isn’t a passing thing with you, is it?”

“No it isn’t. I wouldn’t do anything if it was.”

Stiles was still confused. If this was about him, and he was pretty sure it was, he could put a whole lot of context to their words. But without knowing exactly what they were referring to, he could be wishful thinking right now and he refused to go there, because the odds were low.

“Good. He either thinks too much or not enough. He needs someone to balance that out because either way, trouble finds him. Can you deal with that?”

“Yes.”

Stiles’ dad opened the back door. “Even though I could have lived without it, I’m impressed you spoke up. I may have thought otherwise at first and, unsurprisingly, that was Stiles’ fault, but you’re a good man, Derek.”

There was a significant pause where Derek didn’t say anything. 

When Stiles’ dad spoke again, his voice held slight exasperation. “I’d better go check on what he’s doing. When it gets too quiet it means he’s doing something he shouldn’t be. Any other kid would’ve grown out of it, but it’s Stiles.”

Stiles would normally be offended by his dad’s words but in this instance it was true. He wanted to sit back and mull over their conversation, put too much emphasis on parts of it and generally make himself crazy not understanding what they’d been referring to. He didn’t have any time though, because he could hear his dad coming. He couldn’t move fast enough to go anywhere so he went back to his comic, hoping he’d appear calm, or at least not like he was trying to cover up a listening-in moment.

His dad appeared in his doorway.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, son.” 

Stiles and his dad could have whole conversations with just a few words. It was all in the tone. 

When Stiles said, “Hey”, he was saying: “I’m sorry for all of this. And no, I was not up to something.” 

And when his dad said, “Hey”, he was saying: “I love you even though I’m pissed at you, and we will talk about this, and in no way do I believe you’re not up to something because that would be too good to be true.”

“You coming for dinner soon?”

“Yeah.” 

“Okay, then.”

“Yep.”

Stiles’ dad walked back out of the room, and Derek took his place, loitering in the doorway. “Uh. I’m going to go. I’ll call you, if you want.” He folded his arms and frowned.

“Yeah, that would be cool,” Stiles agreed. “If you want to I mean.”

“I do, if that’s okay?” Derek frowned harder.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Bye then.”

“Bye.”

Stiles waited until Derek was out the front door and then leant backwards in his his chair. He gave it a few more minutes just to make sure Derek was in his car with the engine going, and then groaned and smacked himself in the forehead. 

 

***


	7. The History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fae History: Beacon Hills style. And Stiles' body finally gets with the program, even if his mind doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It had to happen. Here be the start of the explicit rating.

The next day Stiles was again by himself and he was moping in the kitchen.

He and his dad hadn’t worked things out during dinner last night, conversation being small and general. Stiles had gone to bed feeling rather small in general, too. He wasn’t any better when he woke up, and his mood hadn’t improved at all through their quiet introspective breakfasts.

His moping reached epic proportions when he tried to figure out his Derek problem. Seriously, he needed to get a handle on his feelings. He was pretty much emoing all over the poor guy every time Derek got near him. It didn’t make it any easier that Derek had been physically close to him for the past two days.

Stiles couldn’t recall pack bonding ever being this intense. But then, he and Scott were practically already bonded before Scott had been bitten. Liam was, well, Liam, and really didn’t know anything about wolf culture, and Malia and Stiles had bonded through sexual gratification and a general need of one another.

What he’d had with Malia, while being all sorts of perfect at the time, wasn’t anything like what he was experiencing now. 

While Derek’s pack bonding method of getting all up in Stiles’ personal space and giving warm hugs was awesome in the most obvious ways, it was also confusing the hell out of him. He couldn’t help reciprocating, but he wanted more.

It was midday, and even after hours of inner debate, Stiles still couldn’t come up with any way to stop what was happening. He was going to be in love with Derek for the foreseeable future, and he wasn’t going to jeopardize their pack bonds by refusing them, so that really left him with no possible outcome but one.

At some time Stiles would make a move and everything would go wrong, because Derek would reject him and he’d be devastated. 

He’d been crushed before by Lydia’s continued rejection. But Stiles wouldn’t harass Derek afterwards like he’d done to her, holding out hope for something more. Or become best buds with him when Stiles got over himself. It would hurt too much. He’d also be hurting Derek; destroying the newly-made bonds between them, and then how awkward would it be if Derek stayed in Beacon Hills because he’d still be part of Scott’s pack. Or he’d leave and Stiles would have run him out of town. 

Stiles didn’t even know right now who he actually was. How was that fair? Derek had finally managed to work out his life and here was Stiles trying to drag him down into the quagmire of his.

He had a history of sucking everyone close to him into his messes time and time again. Scott getting bitten. The Nogitsune. Donavan. Being fae. It just kept going. Stiles was going to screw this up. It was just a matter of when. And considering how intense it had been in only just two days of bonding, it was going to be soon. 

Stiles was standing in the kitchen where the window looked out into the backyard. He placed his hands on the sink, leaning into the sun’s heat, not worried about astral projecting anywhere, just wanting to feel good. After a while, there was a discomforting tingle that started in his palms. When he pulled his hands away the feeling quickly faded. He touched the sink with his fingertips again only for the discomfort to come back. He removed his hand. 

“No way,” he said to himself.

He had to check this out, and that required using his computer. Normally he’d use his phone but he couldn’t remember where he’d put it. 

Back in his room, he looked up ‘stainless steal’ and found he was correct in his assumptions. He’d been having a reaction to the iron in the sink.

“Oh, come on! Are you kidding me?” he moaned.

If this was something that was going to happen on a regular basis, it was going to suck big time. How much iron was in the world anyway? 

“Fuck!” Stiles hit the keyboard and his computer turned off. When he tried to get it to turn on again, there was a smell coming from it that did not bode well. Burnt electronics. His computer had fried its brain. “Well screw you, too!”

He went into the kitchen, made himself a fruit smoothie and looked out the window. He was trying to do the right thing by his dad and not astral project without someone with him, but if iron was going to be a problem he needed to find out sooner rather than later. Mind made up, conscious relatively clear, Stiles put his smoothie down and grabbed his cane. He walked out the back door.

Stiles stepped down off the porch and tipped his face up to the sun, enjoying the feeling of the light touching his skin. He walked over to the sycamore and lay down underneath it.

The tree’s branches were long and spread over a wide area. Stiles’ mom had told him it was a magic tree, that all trees were full of magic. Now he was aware that magic was real, and he was part of nature himself, becoming more wild every day, Stiles believed her. Had she known about the supernatural or had she just been more in touch with what was out there than the average person? He wished not for the first time, that she was around so he could ask her all the questions he had. She would have sat with him and answered them all day. 

Stiles smiled up at the tree. He could imagine his mom being a part of it, part of the wind through its branches, part of the earth beneath where he lay. If so, she was still supporting him, still propping him up, pushing him forward, helping him be. 

The sun managed to warm him enough that Stiles started to nod off. It pulled at him, wrapped around him, flowed into him.

There was nothing but a certain kind of relief in letting go.

 

***

 

Stiles was at the Nemeton again.

There were clouds covering most of the sky. A wind was blowing through his clothes and the sepia-toned atmosphere of his first visit had changed to a muddled gray. The air wasn’t as vibrant as it had been before, with no electric flashes on his skin.

The entire area had a lonely feel today, but Stiles found he liked the brush of the wind on his skin. It was energetic and lively. He pushed his hair back, only for it to do as it wanted as the wind pulled and teased it into wilder than normal snarls. 

He called out, “You here?” 

The air condensed in front of him so quickly and so closely, he yelped and stepped back. The legs on the fae were more solid this time, there was almost a face too; a flash of nose and a pointy chin.

The fae floated forward so they were next to each other. 

“Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles. We were worried.”

Its words were in Stiles’ ear, a whisper of mist that flickered over his cheek.

“Worried? Oh! No, I’m okay. I was hurt,” Stiles put a hand on his chest where the mark from the iron rod was, “but I’m okay now.”

“What transpired?” There was a fleeting touch to his chest.

“Someone put an iron rod on me.”

The fae hissed in fury and grew darker in shade. “Who dared?!”

“It was a druid.” Stiles didn’t want to name him.

“Druid!” The fae sounded like it spat the word out. “They are nothing but trouble and pain! Stay away from them!”

“I am. I despise him.” Stiles hadn’t told anyone else just how much he loathed Deaton. “I’m not even sure exactly why. I mean, he burnt me, so yeah, hating because of that, but I know it was there right from the minute I started becoming fae.”

“We can show you. You must know. Now is the time. We will take you back.” 

The fae slipped closer, its form moving until it was twined about Stiles. He could feel it pressing against him.

Stiles shivered, sensing the fae’s intentions.

The fae wanted to be close to him, to touch him, wanted to share knowledge with him, for him to learn and understand. It desired to help him turn more fae than he was right now. To push him further from his humanity and into its own reality. To have Stiles be like them. To have Stiles be with them.

Stiles rubbed a hand across his mouth. “Okay. Show me.”

The fae’s form covered Stiles completely; slipping over his head and face, wrapping around his shoulders and back, clinging to his legs. Stiles was falling, but standing at the same time. Time changed but stayed the same. He moved, but stayed still. He was surrounded by the fae and welcomed. Safe. There was a sense of belonging. Anticipation. 

Stiles started to see flickers of something in the fog. In his mind. A memory; one of the fae’s. He slipped inside it.

 

***

 

It was dark, with no moon to shine light on what Stiles was witnessing.

There were torches bobbing and dipping in hands as the people who held them moved around a great wide tree that rose up and up.

Stiles put a hand on its trunk, and the tree’s magic immediately blossomed inside him. It was glorious; full of life and energy. The entire clearing was seeped in its magic, everything saturated; the very air alive with the magic of chance, and truth, and balance.

Stiles was in the Nemeton’s grove, witnessing the Tree in its prime. He was undone by the feeling of peace that surrounded him. He understood then the Nemeton was a part of his history; a part of his future. Just as it had been for hundreds of fae for hundreds of years. This place was home in a way that was more than just family. It was home because it was a part of him. It was him. He could feel the very essence of the Nemeton beating within him.

Stiles laughed, and it was full of joy, acceptance, and wonderment. 

The torches suddenly flared, and he held his free hand up against the glare. He could see the people better now and they were many. More than the torches had implied. They’d walked around the Nemeton until they had it enclosed in a circle. They began to chant. 

The words were unknown to Stiles but their effect was almost immediate. The magic in the air shrunk away, pulled and stretched in all directions. Stiles felt it like it was his own skin being split open. He cried out, and only his grasp on the Nemeton helped him stay upright. 

He yelled again, and tried to remove his hand from the trunk as he started to feel the Nemeton’s pain. These people were using magic to pull at the Tree. To twist and rip up its magic. To rend and tear at its very fabric of being. To sever its life. To cut it down.

Stiles wanted to retch as the Nemeton screamed inside his head. The people were raising their arms and Stiles could feel the Nemeton react; it was beginning to break. He couldn’t release his hand. 

There were anguished cries and screams of fury from vague forms at the grove’s edge. The forms rushed the people but couldn’t get close. They were held back by something unseen and all their anger could do nothing against the might that the group of people had brought to bear against the Nemeton. 

Stiles tried to make out the forms who were trying to help the Tree but he could only feel their anger, their shock. They never once stopped trying to get past whatever was holding them back, even as the Nemeton’s magic started to fall in pieces, float away to nothingness, sink into the ground and become stagnant. 

There was an almighty groaning tearing noise, like a ginormous animal dying, and Stiles was horrified to feel the Nemeton start to crack under his hand. He could feel the wood splintering, ripping apart as the Nemeton fought to hold itself together. 

But its magic couldn’t save it, and the tree sunk its awareness deep into its roots and was quiet.

The trunk of the tree kept splitting, and Stiles watched as near his knees a cut began to appear. Even in the gloom of night, it was glowing; lit up from the inside. The cut drew along the trunk.

When it had circled the entire base the people stopped their chanting and moved away.

The forms which had been trying so desperately to fight their way to the tree were quiet too. It was as if they had disappeared.

The people held their torches high and stepped out of the grove. Everything was silent and still, until one of them intoned, “It is done.”

And the Nemeton started to fall. 

The top part sheered off from the bottom stump as if it was being pushed, fracturing into pieces as it fell. The sound of splintering wood was horrendous and bone-shaking in its forcefulness. The branches toppled onto the ground, thumping into the earth and raising clods of dirt and leaves.

Stiles was in shock. His hand had lost purchase with the Nemeton as it fell away from him. He was bereft and lost. Something had ripped from inside him and the space it left was hollow and thick, like a bleeding wound. 

When the tree stopped falling; when every piece lay in stillness, when the air was quiet, the people walked back into the clearing, stepping and climbing over the branches until they were in a circle around the tree, now just a stump, once more.

Sadness and anger washed over Stiles. He had such honest and complete rage he wanted nothing more than to end these people who displayed such calm acceptance over what they’d just wrought. He saw a face that was familiar and cried out in betrayal.

He was younger, held himself with less restraint, his face more open. But there was no mistaking the man he’d grow into. 

Deaton turned to speak to another druid standing nearby, and Stiles fell out of the vision as he reached out his hands to grab him.

 

***

 

Stiles was kneeling on the ground with tears pouring down his face. He was gasping and hugging himself as the fae slipped away from him. The wind was still whooshing past him, picking up and flattening his clothes against his body. He could feel the moist ground wetting the knees and shins of his pants. The fallen leaves were mush under his hands when he placed them on the ground for support.

“Druids cut down the Nemeton.” He wasn’t asking.

There had been a perfect magical balance. Magic from so many sources; fae, human, other supernatural beings, and pure nature. All together, all as one. Then it was ripped apart and scattered. Gone.

Stiles stood up, brushing his hands on his thighs, and turned to where the stump was. He brushed his tears away angrily. The Nemeton’s small magic was pulsing feebly outwards. He'd thought it was scary and full of power, but it was nothing compared to what it had been. This magic was dirty, sad, and so alone. Cut off from being what it had once been, it was twisted and ugly. 

“The druids betrayed us,” whispered the fae, sadly. “We did not understand where their beliefs were taking them. We were not able to stop the destruction of the Tree and its Grove. We failed and had to leave.”

“No wonder I feel like I do around him, even at the beginning.” Stiles said. “It will never be forgotten or forgiven.”

“No. But it may be fixed.” 

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked, but the fae didn't answer him. He spared the Nemeton one more sad glance, then asked what he’d come there for. “Are you able to live in the human world?”

“Yes, but not without difficulty. We choose not to. We haven’t for a very long time.”

“Will I be able to? Once I’m fully fae?” 

“That is up to you. There are many things that hurt us in that world. Energies are warped and broken. The currents are damaged or blocked.”

“The telluric currents?” Stiles shuddered. He didn’t have good memories connected with them. 

“Yes. The woods and places where nature is untouched are better for us. We find being around humans difficult.”

“But I’ll be able to?” Stiles was growing anxious. He didn’t want to loose his dad, his friends, his life.

“You will do as you choose, be whatever you choose.”

Stiles wasn’t happy. “Can I still live a human life once I am fae?”

“No. Because you will be fae.”

Stiles gave a frustrated yell and threw up his hands. “Will I have to live in the woods like you do?”

“Yes. No. We choose to. You will choose, too.”

Stiles was feeling more worried now than when he’d first arrived. “You’re not helping!”

“We help. You don’t want to listen.”

“Screw you!” Stiles fisted his eyes. “I didn’t ask for this! I never wanted to be other than what I was! I don’t want to become a supernatural creature living in the woods all alone! I don’t want to leave my dad, my friends! I have a life!” 

The fae still hadn’t moved from where it floated. “You are fae. You can not change back. You have not lost your life but gained a fuller one. You will be whatever you want to be.” 

“Stop saying that!” Stiles wanted to punch the fae in its floaty face area.

“You will need to be in nature because that’s what we are.” The fae didn’t react to Stiles’ anger but he could feel it accepted he was having difficulty with things. It was trying to help. 

Stiles slowly nodded. “Yeah. I have this urge to be outside.”

“You will choose. You will compromise. You will learn.” The fae swayed a little, pleased.

Stiles’ anger flared up again. “I don’t like you,” he told the fae, and turned around to leave.

 

***

 

Stiles opened his eyes and blinked as the sunlight filtered through the branches of the sycamore and into his eyes. He’d moved from his place on the ground, or rather, he’d been moved. He was lying in Derek’s lap, his shoulders cradled by Derek’s thighs, his head resting on his stomach. 

“Thank God.” Derek scrunched over Stiles and squeezed him in a weird-angled hug. He pulled back and frowned down at him. “You need to stop scaring me, Stiles.” He leant back on his hands looking up at the tree branches, giving Stiles room to move if he chose to.

He stayed resting in Derek’s lap. He was a masochist. 

Stiles traced the shadows from the tree across Derek’s jaw and neck with his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He really needed to stop having to say that.

“Why didn’t you wait for me? I texted you that I’d be here.” Derek looked back down at him. He placed a hand in Stiles’ hair and started stroking.

Stiles allowed himself to soak up the feeling of contentment he got from Derek touching him, but didn’t answer.

Derek twisted up one side of his mouth in dissatisfaction. 

Stiles touched his arm in reassurance. For some reason, he didn’t feel so worried about talking to Derek as he thought he would. “I needed to check something.”

“You didn’t wait for me.” Derek sounded hurt.

“I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“I texted you.” Derek ran a finger over Stiles’ eyebrows, smoothing out a frown he hadn’t known was there.

“I didn’t check my phone. I don’t really know where it is.” 

Derek’s hand went back to Stiles’ hair. “You lost your phone?”

Stiles was really liking the pull and tug and stroke of Derek’s fingers on his head. “No? More like misplaced it.”

Derek hummed at this and looked across the yard at nothing in particular. Stiles wanted to know what he was thinking. Derek kept massaging his head and Stiles let his eyes close. This was okay. He wasn’t doing anything. Derek was the one touching. Stroking. Making him feel good.

They may have been there for ages; Stiles with his head in Derek’s lap as Derek rubbed his fingers over his scalp and played with his hair. It may have been only minutes. Stiles didn’t keep track of the time. He was warm and happy. When Derek asked him another question, he was reluctant to break the peace but opened his eyes and looked up at him.

“What did, uh. Never mind.” Derek looked conflicted. He obviously wanted to talk about the astral projection. 

Stiles tilted his head a little bit more. “Ask me, Derek.”

“What? But won’t you?” Derek motioned towards Stiles’ face.

Stiles didn’t understand what he meant by that, unless Derek was asking if he could talk without getting angry. He was very calm and relaxed right then, and it was just the two of them.

“Ask me.” 

Derek placed his other hand on Stiles’ chest. The warmth flowed and slipped down around his chest, wrapping around him like a hug. 

Best. Drug. Ever. 

“What happened?”

Stiles liked his open question. Gave him room to tell Derek what he wanted. He wanted to tell Derek all of it. “I needed to know if iron is going to be a problem for me. So I went to ask.”

“The fae?”

Stiles nodded. “It will be, but I can work around it somehow. But then the fae pissed me off.”

Derek pressed a bit harder against his chest. “Did it hurt you?”

“No. It protects me. Only wants to help me.”

“Hmmm. Maker’s bond. Like with Alphas and those they bite.” Derek watched him intently. 

“Really? I guess that makes sense. I only ever get the feeling it wants to be close to me, to help me understand.” 

Derek tensed up at that. His leg muscles bunched up as Stiles lay against them, but he didn’t say anything. 

“It showed me something. I want to tell you, but it’s not easy.” Stiles closed his eyes as he recalled watching the Nemeton fall.

“I promise whatever you tell me, I won’t tell anyone else.” 

Derek yet again got the words just right, just when Stiles needed to hear them. He honestly loved this part of Derek’s personality. Maybe it wasn’t a new thing, maybe it had been hiding under all the gruffness and fear and anger, but it was new to Stiles and it was perfect.

Stiles thought about how to tell Derek what he’d witnessed. “It showed me its history. Part of it. Derek, I saw the Nemeton being felled.” He couldn’t stop horror from coloring his voice. “It was horrible and terrible and heartbreaking. And it was the druids who did it. Deaton cut down the tree.”

Derek’s hands fell from Stiles. “What?”

“He was part of it.” Stiles sat up, facing Derek. “He stood there and helped destroy a most magical and sacred place. He tried to kill the Nemeton and almost succeeded.” Stiles wanted Derek to believe what he was saying. This was huge.

“I only ever thought of the Nemeton as something that was bad. The sacrifices, your possession,” Derek said, confused.

“I know. Me, too.” He lowered his head, recalling the memory. “Cutting it down changed its magic so much that everything that’s happened; the Darach, the Nogitsune, everything bad that’s been called to Beacon Hills, it’s all because of it. Deaton is directly responsible for all the crap we’ve been through with it.” 

“You were somehow sensing this, before, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. Its hardwired into being fae. At least in Beacon Hills. I don’t know about anywhere else. The fae who changed me feels hatred for the druids.”

“And you hate Deaton.” 

Stiles slowly nodded, “Not only because of that. But, yeah.” He ran a hand over his chest. 

“There are lesser reasons to hate someone,” Derek told him. “I’m not judging you. I understand it.”

They settled back into a comfortable silence, and Stiles took the time to study Derek. His hair was curling a bit more than normal as it had grown longer than he usually had it. Stiles found the style all sorts of cute and wanted to run his fingers through it while he kissed him. He decided to tell Derek something then, while he was feeling so calm, and able to share secrets. 

“You’re pretty amazing, Derek. Three days in and you’ve proven to be as great as I thought you’d be.” He took a deep breath and let the words poor out. “I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate you helping me. Even if you decide being pack isn’t working for you and you need to leave, I’d still think that you’re one of the most incredible people I have ever met.”

Derek was absolutely still after Stiles’ declaration. He didn’t even blink for the longest time. He just stared at Stiles until he started to feel uncomfortable. 

“You can ignore all of that, if you want to.” Stiles made a dismissive gesture with his hand. 

Derek reached over and caught it. He held Stiles’ hand in both of his own, still never taking his eyes from him. “You’re the most amazing person that I know. I’m not leaving Beacon Hills, no matter what happens. Unless you need me to.” 

His total sincerity had Stiles panicking. “Don’t give me that power, Derek. That makes no sense. This is your home. No one should be able to get you to leave, ever, not if you don’t want to go.”

Derek smiled at him. A true, happy, breathtaking smile, with teeth and everything. His eyes even had that sparkle that Stiles liked so much. “Then I’m staying.”

“Good.” Stiles wanted to remember every inch of that smile. Remember how to put that sparkle in those eyes. He sat back a bit, having leant forward at some point. He used his free hand to rub the back of his neck.

Derek raised Stiles’ hand and kissed the knuckles slowly, while looking up through his lashes. He smiled a bit wistfully, and let Stiles’ hand go. 

Stiles blinked in stupefied shock and ruthlessly tried to suppress every single sexualized thought he’d ever had about Derek. He had to make himself drop his hand from where it had frozen in the air. 

“You’re worth more than you believe you are, Stiles. To everyone who loves you, you’re so very important. Stop thinking you don’t deserve happiness.” Derek stood up. “I’ll see you later.” He walked around the side of the house, his car starting up not long after. 

Eventually, Stiles managed to shake himself out of his stunned position. He looked down at his lap and sighed. His body had definitely decided to start paying attention to stimuli again. For all that it was a good thing, he hoped Derek hadn’t noticed his reaction. He wobbled to his feet and carefully walked inside. He needed a shower. 

If he was going to indulge himself a little, replay what had just happened and imagine Derek moving closer rather than walking away, then he was just making sure his body was back in working order. 

That’s all.

 

***

 

Stiles was still feeling kinda loopy from Derek kissing his hand when he sat down in the shower.

He was still not strong enough to chance standing in there and, with what he had in mind, sitting was absolutely the safest plan. He’d been thankful before for the fact his shower stall was bigger than average. Having to sit on the floor made him thankful again. It was wide enough that two people could shower very comfortably together. He had found that out one memorable night with Malia. Plenty of room for movement.

The water ran down the wall behind him, angled that way because he wanted to be able to breathe through this without drowning. He leant up against the wall, feeling the water run over his shoulders and down his back. The difference between the warm water on his back and the cooler air on his front made his nipples pebble and he rolled them gently between his fingers. They weren’t that sensitive but if he kept going, got them puffy enough, then every little touch and rub would go directly to his dick. 

It would probably take him a while to get fully hard, if he even did that. He’d done some quick research on erectile issues during long term illness, and he was comfortable with his progress so far. He’d be happier when everything was working like it had before, but he was confident it would in time.

Stiles was normally a quiet sex partner, due to years of jerking off without his dad hearing. Malia had commented on it, but as they’d normally had sex in the middle of the night after she crawled into his bed, he wasn’t about to go howling and yelling up a sex storm. He’d always liked the idea of being more vocal, but so far he’d never gotten the chance. He sometimes got a bit louder when he was home alone; hearing his own voice sounding so wrecked did something to him. But he was worried if he grew too comfortable with it, he’d be loud when his dad was home, too. 

Today, Stiles needed that extra kick, and stopped holding his breath and biting his lips to keep quiet. He was still rubbing his nipples and added some liquid soap. The spike of cold had his dick twitching and he let out a soft sound. He ran a hand down his stomach and rubbed at the place where his legs met his torso. It was a spot that made him arch his hips a bit, and as his fingers travelled further inwards he let his legs splay out. He wrapped his fingers around himself, closed his eyes, and rested his head against the shower wall. 

He imagined Derek in the shower with him, pressing him down onto the floor. As he imagined Derek kissing him, Stiles squeezed and pulled at his dick. It was slowly getting harder and Stiles let out a larger groan. He could hear his breathing echo in the shower as it sped up and imagined it was Derek, rubbing up against him, all hard muscle and wet slippery skin. 

His moans turned deeper and more desperate as he fisted himself. He ran two fingertips down over the head of his dick and back upwards over the slit. He was so sensitive there normally, and it had him shivering and stiffening in his hand. He did it again and again, until his legs were shaking and he’d slumped down the wall. The sounds he was making were working, and with his soft cries of Derek’s name he was at half mast. 

Without stopping the slow squeeze and slide of his hand, Stiles used the other hand to squirt some soap on his thigh. He gathered it up and reached down under a leg and further back. He raised his leg and planted his foot on the floor, titling his hips to one side so he could reach. He got his fingers to his hole and rubbed over it. Derek could touch him like this, Stiles would let him. He never had Malia do it, she wasn’t into ass play, but he’d become intimately acquainted with how good it felt in the months after they broke up. 

Imagining Derek pushing his way inside Stiles, while he held him close, finding that spot that made him press down hard on the intrusion to make it go deeper, was one of his most used fantasies. He liked being full, he even got to craving it after a few days. He imagined showing Derek how good it could be, opening Stiles up and sinking into him. Into his heat. 

He ran his fingertips around and around, pressing and rubbing and finally sliding in. It was Derek’s fingers doing this and Stiles slid them in further. He got caught up in the slick slide of it. His hand holding his dick stopped moving for a bit and his hitched breathing filled his ears. He started on his dick again and created a lovely push and pull between both hands. Into his ass and up and down his dick. 

He was rocking his hips and he slipped down onto the shower floor. He hit his elbow hard but slithered around until his feet were up on the wall. He found the angle a bit tricky to keep his fingers in himself and had to pull them out, whimpering at the pull. 

He wished he’d brought something into the shower to shove inside himself, but it was too late now. He settled for rubbing his fingers against his nipples again and his back arched up and his hand flew faster and faster. He reached down under his balls and found his hole again. 

He imagined Derek in between his legs, filling him up inside, pulling at the soft skin, making him stretch and burn around his length. Stiles pushed his fingers in again and curled them up and he arched his back as he came. His come ribboning out to fall against his groin and over his hand. There wasn’t as much as he normally had, and his orgasm wasn’t the most mind blowing either, but he wasn’t worried. He’d still had a release that made his legs shake. He let it wash over him. He hadn’t known how badly he’d needed it. 

He lay back against the floor and pushed his ass up against the shower wall, legs folding back along his chest. The water pored over him and even though he’d just come, he wanted the feel of it over his hole. He ran his fingers back over it as well and shuddered as he slipped them back in. He still needed them. He wasn’t ready for another go, but the feel of them pushing and sinking in and out had him arching up to force them in deeper. 

Stiles thought about sleeping with someone inside him all night. Would Derek be the kind of person to do that? He imagined Derek fucking him until they fell asleep, using his hands to push himself back inside while he was still hard enough, or just staying, not pulling out at all after coming. Getting comfortable and falling asleep with Derek’s dick up inside him. Full and surrounded. 

Stiles untangled his legs from the awkward position they’d fallen into. He rolled over onto his side and then slowly sat up. He was a little light headed so he carefully reached up for the shower head. He washed down his groin and ass, sighing as the warm water fell on sensitive skin. He was relaxed, but also strangely wired.

If Derek walked into his house right now, Stiles wouldn’t be able to stop himself from climbing all over him. His fantasy, coupled with the past few days, had him wanting to just go for it, damn the consequences.

He sighed and turned off the water. He reached for his towel where it sat on the floor outside the shower. He’d wanted Derek for so long, and then he came back and showed how caring and beautiful he was. And now it was that much harder not to do anything. Stiles wanted to be able to love him and show it. He rubbed his hands over his face and ground them into his eyes. 

Effectively having killed his blissed-out feeling, Stiles scooted out of the shower and dried himself off while sitting on the bath mat put there for that purpose. 

He stood up, using every available surface to help him do so, and wrapped the towel around his waist. He took his cane and running his hand along the wall for extra support, walked slowly down the hallway to his room. He found clean clothes and changed, before pulling back his bed sheets and snuggling into bed. He covered himself up to the top of his head, leaving a small gap between pillow and blanket to breathe out of. 

Then he shut his eyes, not even caring that he was sleeping during the day again. He let the quiet of the house lull him into a doze before sleep fully pulled him under.

 

***

 

Stiles’ dad come home later that night, but he didn’t want to wake up so he burrowed further into his bed and ignored his dad’s calls. He didn’t know how much later it was when his dad pulled back the covers to ask if he was okay. Stiles mumbled an affirmative and rolled over, putting his back to his dad. When his dad dropped the window shades down, making the room dark for the night, he made a noise of thanks. He pulled the blankets back over his head as his dad walked out.

There was light when he slit his eyes open. The shades were still down and he could hear his dad moving around the house. Stiles debated getting up, but he let sleep take him again so he wouldn’t have to worry about it.

His dad was shaking his shoulder and calling his name. “Stiles, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he croaked out.

“You look terrible. You sound terrible. What happened?” His dad put a hand on Stiles’ forehead. “You’ve not got a fever.”

“Overdid it yesterday, that’s all. Just tired.” Stiles didn’t need his dad worrying about him.

“You’ve been asleep since before I got home last night. I was home in time for dinner! Stiles, tired does not mean a sleep marathon. I need to call Melissa.”

“No! No. I’m okay. Really.” Stiles sat up even though he didn’t want to. “See? All good.”

“Maybe I need to stay home.” His dad frowned. He really couldn’t afford to take any more time off. 

“No! Go to work. I’m good. Really,” Stiles stressed. He was planning on going back to bed but his dad didn’t need to know that. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll call Lydia. If she has a free day she can come over to stay with me, okay?” He wasn’t going to do any such thing.

“Okay.” 

Stiles could tell his dad still wasn’t sure, so he made an effort to put his feet on the floor and find his cane. 

His dad ruffled his hair. “Okay, kiddo. I’m going to call you at lunch time.”

“Bye, Dad.” Stiles even managed a smile. 

He went to the bathroom as his dad grabbed his things and went out the door. Stiles listened to the sounds of his dad backing the cruiser down the driveway. 

Then he flopped back into bed and covered himself up again.

 

***


	8. The Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles really needs to talk, and Lydia tries to convince him of certain truths.

Someone was moving around in his room. A cool hand brushed over his head. 

“Stiles?”

“Lydia?” he mumbled. “What?” He opened his eyes to find her peering down at him.

“You’re dad was worried. He left the spare key for me.”

“Urrghhh.” Stiles hid his face. “Nothing’s up, Lyds. You can go now.”

“I don’t think so. How about you sit up so I know you’re not sleeping, and we’ll have a long overdue talk.”

“All everybody wants to do recently is talk,” he moaned. At Lydia's insistent look, he pushed the blankets back, slowly sat up and leaned back against the bedhead, still heavy with sleep. “Better?”

“Yes. Slightly.” 

Lydia sat on the bed and hung her legs over the side. She rested on her hip, one hand out to steady herself. It didn’t look all that comfortable to Stiles, but he guessed she had to make compromises while wearing a tiny little floral skirt. Considering the weather was only just going into spring, Stiles was curious how Lydia wasn’t feeling the cold. Maybe she considered sacrifices for fashion were that important. He certainly didn’t. Give him comfort clothes any day.

“Have you been sleeping well recently?” Lydia asked him.

“I don’t know, about as well as I normally do.”

“So, not well.”

“Lydia —”

“I’m trying to determine the reason for you sleeping more than nineteen hours straight. I can keep assuming, or you can tell me why.” Lydia had innocent eyes that did nothing to disguise her determination.

Stiles narrowed his own eyes at her and blew out an annoyed breath. 

Lydia raised her eyebrows, waiting. “You can tell me anything, Stiles.”

“I know.”

“So tell me. I’ll help, you know I will. Why have you been hibernating like a bear?” She screwed up her nose and glanced around his room.

“Did you know bears actually wake up during hibernation? They aren’t always sleeping the entire time.”

“Stiles.”

He made a frustrated and put-upon sound. “I don’t know! I guess sleeping is easier than dealing.”

Lydia nodded a little. “You have a heap of stuff to deal with. I get it. Actually, I wasn’t surprised when your dad called and told me. Retreating is really common with PTSD.”

“Yeah, I know the signs.”

“Of course. The Nogitsune.”

“Yep.”

“You didn’t even flinch when I said it. That’s better than you were.”

Stiles grunted. “Not my biggest concern right now.”

“What is?” Lydia got up off his bed in a move that was smoother than Stiles would have thought possible, but well, it was Lydia. She stood at the window nearest the bed. “Okay if I?” She motioned to the shades which were still down. Stiles made a have-at-it motion and she pulled the cord and opened the window to let the air in. She breathed out and waved her hands. “That’s better!”

“Are you saying my room smells?”

“I didn’t say the words, but that’s what my actions are implying. Your room is a den of man odor.” Lydia opened the desk window next and the air circulated through the room. She sat back down on his bed. “So, what’s the biggest concern?”

Stiles snorted. “I have more than one. They’re all huge.”

“Name one.”

“We really doing this?” Stiles bent his legs up and hung his hands between his knees.

“Yes. Now name one or I’ll phone your dad, tell him I can’t help you and he’ll call Scott’s mom. Or the hospital. Or your therapist. Your choice.” 

Stiles groaned loudly, “Jeez, Lydia!” 

“Tell me what you can. Push yourself, Stiles. You need to talk. So talk to me.”

Stiles didn’t know if he could tell her. They’d tried this before and it hadn’t gone down well. It hadn’t been that long ago either, only a couple of days. But this was Lydia, the most intelligent person he would ever know. The woman who forgave him for being a stalker-like idiot. Who’d become one of the most valued individuals in his life. She was a friend. She was pack. She was his family. 

For all that, he focussed on his hands while he spoke, unable to watch her reactions. “When I was possessed, I lost periods of time. Couldn’t tell what was real and what was dream. Didn’t always know what I was doing. Afterwards, I suffered from memory flashes. I remembered everything the Nogitsune did while it was me. Like it actually was me who had done all those horrible things.”

“Stiles, that’s not at all true.”

He held up his hand to cut her off. “I’ve worked through a lot of that. I still have the memories, but I know what I did and what it did. I know the difference. I just mention it for comparison." He risked a quick glance up at Lydia before dropping his eyes once more. "The worst bit about changing into a fae is that I’m back to being so confused. I’m confused all the damn time. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I’m worried I’ll loose everything. I’ll loose my dad, you, Scott, everyone. I have moments when I can feel how different I am now, and it scares me because it feels so right that I don’t know how I lived before without knowing what it was to be fae.”

Stiles rubbed his hands over his thighs. “And if it feels like that now, what about when I finish changing or whatever. What if I’m no longer worried about loosing all of you? Am I going to be fine walking away from my life?"

Lydia shook her head. "That would never happen."

Stiles put his hands to his face and scrunched himself up, not able to tell her that he was certain it would because even now there was a part of him that wanted to do just that. And it was growing.

Lydia knelt on the bed and enclosed him in a hug that Stiles could feel in nearly every inch of himself. “I also found out the Nogitsune is influencing me,” he said quickly, hiding his face in her shoulder. She froze for a split second. “You don’t need to worry. It’s gone. But I’ve been told no one gets out of a possession without changing. I’ve been infected and will now always be more inclined to,” he swallowed, unable to finish saying it.

“Do the wrong things?” Lydia asked, and Stiles nodded. “What lie is that? Did the fae tell you that? Don’t believe it, Stiles!”

“You don’t know what I think about, Lyds. What about the other night, huh? I wanted you to be scared of me, I wanted your fear. What the hell is that if not the Nogitsune?” 

Lydia shook her head again. “I don’t know what it was, not for sure. I was scared until I thought about it, but now I have a theory.”

“What?”

“I could be really wrong. Completely mistaken.”

“You’re never that wrong.”

Lydia twisted her lips. “I’ve done some research on PTSD.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes. Not everything could be because of that. 

“Some sufferers deal with their trauma by putting it onto others. Maybe I was the lucky recipient of your projecting.”

Stiles was confounded by her composure. “Even if that's what it was, that doesn't make it okay!” And he didn't believe it. Being a dick to someone didn't normally include sucking on their fear like they were a juice box.

“I’m saying it could be an explanation."

Stiles held the bridge of his nose. “Scaring you so I feel better? No, it was more than that. Your fear was inside me.”

He wanted Lydia to tell him it was nothing, because being able to do anything like the Nogitsune was scary as fuck, and Stiles was incredibly worried about what it said about him, about who he was and what he was capable of. 

“Have you felt it at any other time?” she asked, unconcerned. 

Stiles was annoyed by her attitude. He rubbed at his bottom lip with his fingers, considering her question but also preventing himself from yelling. “Scott and Derek have been doing this wolf thing where their touch makes me feel calm.”

“That’s not a werewolf thing, Stiles.” Lydia sounded certain. 

“That’s what they say! But it so is!”

“Otherwise, what? Otherwise, it’s you?”

“Me?” 

“Stiles, you’re fae. Fae are supposed to be able to do lots of things. One of them being the manipulation of people’s emotions.”

“I’m manipulating the way people are feeling?” Holy God. It was worse than he thought. 

“No! That’s not you, and if there’s one thing I know, being fae is not going to change what makes you fundamentally you.”

“I’ve been told that.” And it didn’t actually make him feel all that better about things. 

“I can guess from who,” Lydia sounded unimpressed. “What if this ability to feel other people’s emotions is all you? Not Derek, not Scott, not a ‘wolf thing’? When I hugged you just then, what did it feel like? Just a hug? Or more?”

“More, I guess.” 

Stiles wanted to believe Lydia was wrong about this. Hugging was known to be one of the most complex ways people communicated with each other. Sensing things didn’t have to mean he’d been pulling on her emotions again. Because if it had, he’d been doing it to Scott. And to Derek.

“How?” Lydia asked. “More in what way?”

Stiles huffed, “This is stupid, Lydia.” 

Lydia wasn’t dissuaded by his attitude. “I’ll tell you why I hugged you. You’re going through so much and feel so very alone and it’s not true. I wanted to show you that I'm here for you.”

Stiles wasn’t sure what to say. 

Lydia tilted her head, considering. “You felt that?” 

Stiles was slow to answer. “Mostly, yeah, but that could just be intuition. We know each other really well.”

“Did it have a physical sensation? Does it now?” Lydia leant over and hugged him again. Stiles pulled back, or tried to, but he was up against the bedhead and Lydia was stuck on him like a lympit. There was nowhere for him to go. “Stiles, you’re not going to hurt me,” Lydia said into the hug. “Just try it. You’re safe with me, I’m safe with you.”

Stiles couldn’t help the half-crazed laugh that came out of him. Safe was a relative term at best.

But when Lydia just kept holding him, he sucked in a breath and closed his eyes and leant into her hug. He opened himself up, trying for the first time to actually work out what he’d been doing all those times he’d felt something from someone. He had no idea if he was doing it right, or if there was anything he was actually doing.

Suddenly he could feel it. The warmth. It flowed over him like a cloth being dropped, floating through where Lydia touched him. Just like with Derek and Scott. But this time there was a deeper understanding. He could feel love-safe-trust coming from Lydia. They were like emotional bursts of sensation, with the warm feeling of comfort overlapping everything.

He gasped, and pulled back. “Holy crap, it’s me??”

Lydia nodded, still acting like this wasn't a huge deal. 

She may have thought it was okay, but if it was him that meant … Stiles didn’t know exactly what that meant. All those times, it had been him? 

“You said something about making people feel things?” 

Lydia shook her head. “I don’t think you are. Try it on me.”

“What? No!”

“Just do it, or you’ll worry.” Lydia understood him all too well sometimes. 

“Fine!” Stiles took Lydia’s hands when she held them out for him. He closed his eyes, feeling like an idiot, and thought about how he wanted Lydia to feel. Something good, obviously. He tried to push good feelings at her but nothing happened. He dropped her hands as quickly as he could. “You feel any of that?”

“Just how dry your skin is getting. Do you even own moisturizer?” At Stiles’ flat stare, she smiled and shook her head. “Nothing, just like I thought. You can always practice on Scott and Derek if it would make a difference.”

“No. I’m good not being able to do it. I don’t want to manage it by accident if I keep trying.” He bit his lip and looked away. “Lyds?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“Did it hurt?”

“No, Stiles,” she said gently. “I didn’t feel anything.”

“What about the other night?” He didn’t really want to ask about that, but he needed to know.

“I didn’t feel anything, there was no pain, Stiles. I didn’t even know you were doing it.”

Stiles let out a huge sigh. “You sure? You’re not just saying that?”

“No. If you were hurting me I’d let you know.” Lydia put her hand over his. “You are not the Nogitsune, Stiles, even if you now have a similar ability. You don’t feed on emotions do you?”

Stiles shook his head, “I don’t think so.” Did that make him worse in some ways, because he just enjoyed it and it wasn’t necessary for his survival?

“Do you want to cause chaos and strife through hurting people?”

“God, no, Lyds!”

“Then if the Nogitsune left an influence in you or even if it's a fae ability only, or a mix of both, you're still not a danger to people.”

Stiles found himself grabbing onto her words desperately. She was so certain, so sure. Perhaps he should just trust her on this. He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Stiles found himself breathing easier with one worry gone, or at least not as big as it had been before.

Lydia was pleased. “You know what this means, right? You’re magic. You can do magic.”

He nodded again, not sure where she was going with this. Lydia could do things, too. Banshee things. He supposed that meant she was magic, though he’d never thought of it like that. Did that make their werewolf buddies magical, or was it only certain types of supernaturals that were seen as such? He guessed it depended on how magic was defined. 

“I can do magic, sort of, yeah.” 

He’d been able to before though, right? Spark related things. But something told him the fae magic Lydia was talking about was vastly different to sprinkling mountain ash and believing in himself.

Lydia gave him an understanding smile. “Think of it as an affirmation for the amazing person you are, Stiles. Trust me, it makes it easier to deal. And you do it one day at a time.”

Stiles reached out and curled a strand of her silky hair round his finger as she continued to smile gently at him. Lydia had come to terms with being able to hear spirits. He could take her advice on how to deal with being able to take people’s emotions.

Despite himself, Stiles found his mouth twitching into its own smile. “I want my Hogwarts letter now.”

 

***

 

They’d made fruit smoothies and took them outside to sit under the sycamore. 

Stiles was lying on his belly on the grass in a big patch of sunlight, sipping his drink. He didn’t worry anymore about astral projecting anywhere. Lydia had mentioned intent was required to do it, so he was pretty comfortable right where he was. 

“I’m going to tell you something, okay?” Lydia stirred her drink with a spoon as she stretched her legs out, leaning up against the tree trunk.

“Hmm?” 

“We’ve been asking you to tell us everything. Our hearts were in the right place, but we’re still asking a lot. Maybe it’s because we almost lost you and are holding on too tightly now, but we haven’t given anything back.”

“What?” Stiles squinted over at her. “Lydia, I don’t expect you to tell me things just because I’ve been through some stuff. That’s not how friendship works.”

“There should be quid pro quo somewhere in there, though. Otherwise it would be a rather one-sided friendship.”

“Having a hand in saving my life is pretty decent exchange.” Stiles finished his drink and flipped over onto his back. “Come join me.” He held his arms up towards her.

Lydia stood and brushed down her skirt. “You feel comfortable talking to me?” she asked as she settled beside him, resting her head next to his so they touched.

“Yeah, of course.” 

“Well, I want you to know I feel comfortable talking to you, too.”

“I know you do, Lyds.”

“No, I mean I can talk to you like I can’t with anyone else.”

“Cool.”

“So, I want to talk to you.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

“I’m sort-of dating Jordan Parrish.”

“What now? When did that happen? And what do you mean, sort-of?”

“We became friends over the whole hell hound thing and it just progressed. We’ve been taking it slow. Glacially slow. It’s been nice.” Lydia sounded pleasantly surprised. “I didn’t know it could be like that.”

“Like how?”

“Comfortable. I’m not trying to be someone with him. I’m just me.”

“Then he’s an incredibly lucky deputy, because you’re one hot commodity.”

“Stiles —”

“No, I mean it! I don’t want to wax poetic on your assets, because let’s face it, I’ve done enough of that.” 

Lydia snorted through her smile. 

“Lyds, you’re an incredible woman. Parrish better treat you right.”

“He has been so far.”

“Good.” He squeezed her hand. “Does anyone else know?”

“No. He’s older than me, which will be a problem for my mom even though you wouldn’t think so. It was better to wait to tell people until I was eighteen.”

“Oh, my God, Lydia, I meant to say something to you. Happy Eighteenth Birthday.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks, Stiles,” Lydia smiled.

“Please tell me that someone showed you how much you’re loved. Everyone wasn’t being a self-absorbed dumbass like me, were they?”

“Kira and Malia had a small cake, which wasn’t edible. Don’t let Malia cook, ever. And my mom remembered of course.” Lydia was still smiling and a slight blush rose over her cheeks. “Jordan took me out for dinner the next night, one town over.”

Stiles laughed. “I’m so glad. I would have got you something but I didn’t remember.”

“Stiles, I didn’t expect anything.”

“But it was your eighteenth, Lyds. That’s huge. You didn’t even have a party!”

“The picnic could count.”

“No way! Not everyone was there! There was no edible cake, or presents!”

“No. I didn’t want a huge party, Stiles. I still don’t.”

“I’m talking a nice quiet soiree. With pack, your mom, Scott’s mom, my dad, Parrish. And a jumping castle.”

Lydia laughed slightly but then grew serious. “No. I don’t want that, even though it sounds fun. I’m good with what I had.”

“You sure?” Stiles wasn’t convinced. 

“Yeah. I got the best present I could ever ask for anyway.” Lydia put her face on his shoulder. A warm slow glow filled with happy-content floated along his side where she lay. He didn’t try to stop it, it wasn’t hurting anything.

“The best present, huh? What? Did Parrish buy you a pony?”

“Funny. No. I got you back.”

“Lyds.”

“I haven’t told you, but you could guess how hard it was for everyone when you were gone.” Lydia’s grip on him got tighter. “Then we got you back and the doctors were acting like we were going to loose you again. Did you know it was Derek who found you? We were all there, searching the buildings for that orange tree painting because Scott couldn’t remember which one it was on.”

Stiles shook his head. “Figures.”

“When we found it, Derek raced up the stairs that were on the outside of the closet building and through an open door and I thought he’d found you dead.” Stiles rubbed his chin on the top of Lydia’s head. She snuggled closer. “He howled and I panicked. Scott ran up and went inside. Derek carried you down the stairs and I thought your dad was going to pass out. Scott wasn’t much better and Derek just about took his arm off when he touched you.” Lydia had a hitch in her breath and Stiles could feel his shirt getting damp where her head lay.

“Lyds, you don’t have to tell me this.” 

“Getting you to the hospital is still a blur to me. I remember sitting in the waiting room. I was sure you’d be okay, but I was so worried I was wrong.” Lydia sighed and squeezed him. “Then you got through the first week, then the second, and you kept getting better. I don’t remember stopping breathing when you were gone. But I remember starting again when I was certain you’d live.”

Stiles took Lydia’s drink and placed it behind him. He didn’t care if it tipped over or not. He turned onto his side and tucked Lydia into his chest. He put his arm over her and tightened his hug.

 

***

 

They’d gone back inside afterwards and, as Lydia’s smoothie had become collateral damage, they made another batch after Lydia had fixed herself up in the bathroom. Stiles couldn’t even tell she’d been crying only half an hour before.

“I’m surprised you want another drink. Your first one was huge,” Lydia commented.

“What can I say? I’ve found a new appreciation for fruit.” Stiles sat down at the table.

“But a lot of fruit contains high levels of Vitamin C. Aren’t you supposed to be limiting that to help with your iron?”

“Talking about what foods I can and can’t eat is extremely boring, Lyds. I just go with what’s on the list.” He waved at the fridge door. “Fruit is on there. I eat it. I like it. Actually, I could drink a tone of these but dad’s grumbling about buying fruit when its not in season. Add the hospital bills and it’s not like I can blame him. We must be up to our eyeballs in our own national debt, but he won’t let me anywhere near any of it to find out.” At Lydia’s quickly hidden grin, Stiles cocked his head and set down his drink. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” Lydia sucked on her straw innocently.

“Lyds, if you know something I’d like to hear it. I’m actually pretty worried about our ability to pay everything we owe.”

“Fine. Just so you can have one less thing to worry over. I overheard your dad talking to one of the hospital clerks. I wanted to help so I phoned Jackson.”

“Jackson?” Stiles got a bad taste in his mouth.

“His dad called your dad who let him look into your situation. There was a case to be made about where you were found, duty of care by the buildings’ owners. Anyway, your bills were mostly paid by the company who own the building you were found in.”

“You’re joking.”

“No.”

“Why would Jackson help me? Why would his dad? I kidnapped his son.” Stiles watched Lydia calmly take another sip of her drink. “What did you do, Lydia?”

“I reminded Jackson about some of the things I’ve done for him over the years.”

“You blackmailed him?!” Stiles had a nasty thrill at the thought. “Lydia! I love you!”

“No, I did not! I merely leaned on his soft side and he agreed to help.” Lydia was all wide-eyed blinking eyelashes. 

Stiles scoffed in disbelief, “Jackson doesn’t have a soft side.”

“He did with me. He still does.” 

“You’re not going to tell me what made him help me, are you?”

“No. It was one of the stipulations I agreed to.” Lydia lent back against the kitchen bench. She took another sip of her drink.

Stiles was experiencing a weird feeling. “I don’t know if I should be upset you won’t tell me, or just immensely grateful and let it go.”

“Be immensely grateful and let it go.”

“Dad was alright with Jackson’s dad doing this?” 

That didn’t sound like his dad. The hospital bills must have been astronomical.

Lydia shook her head as she tried not to laugh. “He was pretty annoyed to be getting help and not be able to tell him where to go. Your dad called Mr. Whittemore a ’jacked-up, low-brow’ something-or-other. I get the impression he dislikes him a lot.”

Stiles nodded. “It runs in the families. Jackson’s people are douches, mine hate them for it.”

“They both saved your family’s hide.”

“Don’t say that! It makes it sound like I owe him. I’m going to be sick.” Stiles made a show of pushing his drink away from him across the table. 

“You don’t owe him. It was one of my stipulations.”

Stiles grabbed his drink back with both hands. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You’re a goddess among women, Lydia. A veritable super hero. You’re my very own Wonder Woman!”

 

***

 

Even though Stiles had slept for almost one day straight, he found himself yawning as Lydia sat with him on the couch. They were watching a space documentary that had him blinking slowly and continuously within minutes. Lydia grabbed his arm and pulled him until he tipped sideways, his head ending up on her leg. 

“Everyone is so touchy-feely with me now,” Stiles noted.

“I can stop if you want.” Lydia didn’t remove her hand from his side.

“No, I like it. Lots of hugs and comfort for me!” he joked. Lydia patted him and he made an exaggerated sigh of happiness. He even wriggled for extra emphasis.

Lydia laughed a little. “You’re a big puppy. Could be part of the reason you get along so well with Derek.” 

Her bland tone didn’t fool Stiles for a second. “I know what you’re doing, Lyds.” 

“There’s one thing you’ve managed not to talk about, Stiles.”

He frowned. “It’s just hard, okay?”

“Tell me. I already know, you know I already know.”

“Fine! I just don’t know how to say it out loud.”

“Say the words like you’re saying them to yourself. You keep so much inside you it’s become a habit. Breaking that is hard.”

Stiles was quiet. He watched the TV for as long as it took an astronaut to show how water reacted to being squeezed out of a cloth in zero gravity. “I’m in love with Derek,” he finally said, raising his head off her knee.

“I know,” Lydia said, smiling supportingly. 

“It’s not a good thing, Lyds.” Stiles sat up. “It just means I’m going to screw up our friendship.”

Lydia raised her eyebrows. “What? Why would that happen?”

“Because I can’t do this for much longer without acting on how I feel. You know what I’m like when I have feelings for someone.”

Lydia laughed a little, though not unkindly. “You aren’t known for hiding your heart.”

“Exactly!”

“Would that be so wrong?”

“Yes! Derek doesn’t deserve to have me throwing myself at him!”

“I doubt you’d throw yourself,” Lydia sounded amused. “Not right away, anyway.”

Stiles was annoyed she didn’t get what he was trying to say. He tried again. “It’s been less than a week since we started pack bonding. I don’t want to loose it. It’s already one of the best things in my life.”

“Pack bonding?” 

“Scott asked Derek to stay to become pack and Derek’s been forming the bond with me.”

“You think what’s between you and Derek is a pack bond? Stiles, really?” Lydia said shook her head at him like he’d done something stupid. “You’re living in denial.”

“No, I’m not.” Stiles sank back into the couch.

“Yes you are. The first and most important reason for Derek to agree to being part of the pack was you.”

“What?” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest.

“Derek came back because of you. He stayed because of you. We all know how much he cares for you.”

“Pack bonding.”

“It doesn’t mean what you’ve convinced yourself it does! Does Derek touch Scott the way he touches you? Does he touch me like that? Do you see him touching Liam at all?”

“No, but he could be —”

“Don’t be obtuse, Stiles. It doesn’t suit you. You’ve concocted some silly pack bonding scenario to help you deal and your brain is so messed up, it makes sense to you! Pack bonding can be as simple as spending time together, appreciating who the other person is and accepting that person as part of the pack. Is that what you and Derek have been doing?”

“Yes!”

Lydia tapped her fingernails on her leg. “I’m not explaining this very well. Derek touches you like he needs to, Stiles.”

“He’s been helping me stay calm,” Stiles shrugged. 

“He’s been spending every day he can at your side.” 

“He’s helping me to get better.”

“He doesn’t need to do those things.” 

“Everyone’s been doing those things! It’s pack stuff!”

“No! You are infuriating! We don’t do these things because you’re pack but because we love you. Do you get what I’m telling you?”

Stiles had a sharp pain between his eyes. He nodded and agreed, “I’m loved.”

“Now you’re being a jerk and you promised not to do that. Stop hiding, Stiles, and accept the fact that people love you.”

That struck a chord in him. “Derek said something similar to me.”

“And yet you’re still not listening. Every one of us loves you. You are worth loving.” 

“Okay.” Stiles had to accept that, didn’t he. He was loved. The fact they wanted to be around him was proof enough, even after everything he’d put them through. 

“Okay?” Lydia frowned. 

“Sure. If you guys want to love me, I’m good with that.” Stiles smiled at her.

Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “I have a new respect for your dad. Raising you would not have been easy.”

“Hey!” He frowned, but his offense was mostly for show because he agreed with her.

“We all love you, Stiles.” 

“I get it!” 

She sighed in exasperation, “No, you really don’t, but it’s not my place to say anything else. I want to, but the next part is up to you and Derek.” Lydia took his hand. “Just keep this in mind, Derek doesn’t do what he does because of pack, and not because you’re sick. There’s so much more to it than that.” 

Something about the way Lydia spoke convinced Stiles she was being totally serious, if not infuriatingly confusing with her need to enforce his belief that people cared for him.

He nodded. “Okay. I’ll remember what you said.”

“Good.” Lydia let his hand go. “You still feel like sleeping?”

Stiles had a yawn coming just from Lydia bringing his attention back to how tired he was. “Yeah.” Lydia stood up as he stretched back out on the couch. “You going?”

“No. I’ll stay.”

“Cool.”

Lydia pulled a blanket over him. “I’m going to call your dad and tell him you’re okay. I should have called him earlier. I’m surprised he hasn’t been calling you.”

“He said he’d call. He’s probably busy.”

“Go to sleep, Stiles. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

 

***

 

Stiles should really stop listening to conversations he wasn’t a part of.

It was a bad habit he’d done since his mom got sick. He’d worked out his dad, his mom, the doctors, and even complete strangers were keeping things from him, so he learnt what he needed to know by being sneaky. He hadn’t grown out of it, just gotten better at it. It had even saved the pack’s asses a few times. 

Regardless, when he woke up he should have made some noise to let Lydia know he was awake.

She was on the phone in the kitchen. After a bit, she walked into the living room and dropped her phone on the table with a frustrated sound. 

She turned to Stiles, not surprised he was awake. “How much of Scott being an idiot did you hear?” 

Stiles propped himself up on an elbow. “Not a lot,” he lied. “He giving you a hard time about me?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” She sat down on the opposite couch. “How are you feeling? Still tired?”

He was but he shook his head, and rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “What stupid thing is Scott doing now?”

Lydia scoffed, “He’s annoyed you won’t talk about stuff. He assumes you’re under too much mental and physical strain and he’s angry he can’t fix things for you. But I don’t think it’s anything you can’t handle with help. You’re doing remarkably well.”

Stiles gave Lydia his best ‘Are-you-insane?’ look. 

She wasn’t fazed. “It’s been what? Nine days since you got home. Give yourself some credit.”

Stiles didn’t have anything to say to that. He wanted to go easy on himself, but he couldn’t. In those nine days there’d been mishaps and trauma, both physical and psychological. Perhaps if he was looking at it from the outside he’d be able to see it differently. But he wasn’t. It was personal and painful.

He put his hand into the sunlight coming from the windows. He watched the light blend into him, soak into his finger bones. He twisted his wrist around and wriggled his fingers. “I’d like to go for a walk,” he announced. 

“Are you up to it?”

“I don’t know. But sitting at home is beginning to drive me nuts. I want to go outside and move. I feel better than I did a week ago. I wouldn’t have to go far.”

“I don’t know, Stiles.” Lydia was eyeing his hand where he was still holding it up. “Can you wait until you talk to your dad about it? One of us should go with you.”

“Yeah, sure.” He dropped his hand. 

“Where would you like to go?”

Now that he’d had the idea to get out of the house, he wanted to go the preserve. That wouldn’t be happening though. No one would be letting him near the Nemeton or the fae any time soon. So he didn’t suggest it. 

Instead, he told Lydia, “I’d like to go for a walk in the woods out the back of my house.”

“Are you sure? It could be a bit too much,” Lydia said, concerned.

“No, it’s not. There’s a forest trail that runs off the fire break. I know it really well. Scott and I used it for bike riding. One part of it circles around in the wood and meets itself again after half a mile. That’s nothing! At my walking rate it would only take me an hour or so. Plus, I don’t need to walk the entire thing.” 

The more he thought of the tracks in the woods, the more he wanted to go. He didn’t really care if Lydia told him not to or if his dad agreed with her. He’d go the moment he was alone. 

“Well, just talk to your dad first, okay?” Lydia asked.

“Okay,” Stiles agreed.

He wasn’t sure he would, but he’d think about it at least.

 

***

 

Stiles sat across from his dad in the kitchen, trying to work out how to fix the situation between them. He wasn’t having much luck. He sighed and pushed his spoon around in his soup. His dinner was another of Lydia’s research meals. Split pea soup. He bemoaned the loss of bread in his diet which meant he couldn’t just have a banana sandwich. 

“Stiles.” His dad was equally unhappy with his tofu steak. 

“Yeah?”

His dad pushed his plate away and sighed. “I just wanted to say, I’m sorry.”

Stiles dribbled the soup from his spoon back into the bowl. “For what?” 

“Are you joking?” His dad’s tone was serious as he eyed him. 

Stiles raised an eyebrow, “Have you done something lately I’m not aware of?” That was something his dad said to him. It was kind of weird, yet also somewhat amusing, to parrot it back.

His dad narrowed his eyes, unimpressed.

Stiles continued, “No, really. I’m the one who’s continually stuffing up here. I’m the sorry one. I honestly have no idea why you’re apologizing.”

His dad said, slowly, “So, we’re both sorry?”

“Yep. Guess so.” Stiles still had no idea why his dad thought he needed to be.

“We’re good?”

“Guess so.”

“Look, I know I’m not handling this as well I as could. Knowing you’re not human anymore is not as easy to deal with as you’d think.” 

Stiles said, dryly, “I know how hard it is, Dad.”

“Yeah, of course.” His dad was a bit flustered. “But you’re my son and I’m doing something wrong if I can’t even protect you in our own house. I’m the God-damn sheriff and my son was taken pretty much from under my nose! What does that say about me?”

“That no matter how hard you try, there are too many variables to plan for each thing that may eventuate. If someone wants to do something as nutty as kidnap someone, they’re going to work it out so they can.”

His dad leant back in his chair. “Those are wise words.”

“They’re yours. It was your speech at a police training two years ago, bar the kidnapping bit. You spoke more generally. I made it more relevant for our situation.” Stiles waved his hand between the two of them.

“You remember my speech?”

“Well, yeah.” He shrugged as he twirled his spoon around, making eddies in the soup. 

“Did I even show it to you?”

Stiles glanced up at his dad. “Possibly. Look, it doesn’t matter if you showed me or if I found it in your desk drawer, the point is the words were true then and they’re true now.”

His dad shook his head at him. “You’re pretty smart, kiddo.”

“I take after my old man.”

His dad snorted. “Are you going to eat that?” He pointed at Stiles’ bowl.

“Am I allowed to say, hell no?” 

His dad screwed up his face. “What is it anyway?”

“Something that died. And then came back. Died again. Was buried. Dug up. Put in a blender and pureed. Then used as a ritual sacrifice.”

“Normally I’d make a comment about your ability to over-dramatize things. But in this case, you’re spot on.”

“I am, kinda. It’s split pea soup. In the original Exorcist movie that’s what they used for the vomit.”

“Now I know that, it’s even more disgusting. Please put us both out of our misery and throw it away.” 

“I agree with that plan. Give me your tofu steak, they can be bin buddies.”

“Really?” His dad couldn’t push his meal over fast enough.

“Really. I’m surprised you let me give it to you.” Stiles pondered his next words as he carried his dad’s dinner over to the bin. “It’s come to my attention recently that I may have gone a bit overboard with your diet.”

“Who got you to admit to that?” His dad was wary. 

Stiles could understand why. The sheriff’s diet was a well-known subject of mirth around the station. He’d tried for years to get Stiles to ease up. 

His dad suddenly grinned. “Just so I know who to thank and give a gift voucher to at Christmas.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, then as he walked back to the table to get his soup said, nonchalantly, “Derek.”

“Hmm, Derek. I wonder if he was going for brownie points?” His dad rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“What for? He was just making an observation.” Stiles scooped the soup out of the bowl and flipped the bin lid shut. 

“Your ability to ignore things is truly remarkable,” his dad scoffed at him.

Stiles had lost the thread to this conversation. “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know, and it’s amusing as all hell.” 

His dad was trying not to grin. Stiles just didn’t know why. He shook his head and dropped the subject. Whatever it was. 

“What do you want for dinner?” he asked.

“Pizza?”

“Okay.”

“Seriously?” Stiles’ dad narrowed his eyes. He leant back on his chair and appraised his son. 

If anyone was ever curious as to why Stiles was a suspicious bastard, they need look only so far as his dad. 

“Yeah.”

“What do you want me to agree to? Or, what have you done that I don’t know about?”

Stiles sighed. Sometimes his reputation was a hindrance. “I may have had an idea about something today and want you to okay it. I promised Lydia I’d talk to you about it.”

“You’re not joining the navy are you?”

Stiles stared at him, somewhat perplexed. “How is that even a feasible idea?” 

His dad shrugged. “It’s a worth-while profession.” 

Stiles didn’t want to know how his dad’s mind worked sometimes. 

“No. I don’t want to join the navy,” he snorted loudly. “I want to go for a walk on the forest trails.” He pointed out the kitchen window for emphasis.

“Oh. The community health trails?”

Stiles nodded. He was going anyway, but he’d like his dad to be okay with it.

“When did you want to do it?” 

“As soon as possible.” 

“Is there someone who can go with you?” 

“Derek, maybe?” 

Stiles imagined being in the woods with Derek. They’d walked through the preserve together for pack business, but this would be different. No need to rush anywhere, just the two of them, surrounded by trees and sunlight. It was a highly appealing scenario. He pushed down the weird and strong emotions that had just risen up in him. 

“You’re not going to overdo it and end up sleeping for a day again, are you?”

“No,” he shook his head slowly.

“Well then, it should be fine.”

The intense feelings of need and want rose in Stiles again as he pictured Derek in the forest with him. This was the best idea he’d had in ages. 

“Yes! You are the greatest dad ever.”

“I know. Now let’s order me that pizza.”

 

***

 

Stiles was getting ready for bed when his phone pinged. He found it underneath some stuff on his desk. He checked it and found a couple of texts and a missed call from Scott earlier that afternoon. He sat on his bed and read through his missed texts, including the one from Derek that he’d mentioned.

Scott’s text said he’d be over on the weekend to hang out if he wanted. Stiles sent a quick affirmative, and then tried to work out how to ask Derek to go walking with him. Eventually he sent:

\- Hey. I was thinking about going for a walk tomorrow. Did you want to come with?

It was open enough that Derek could decline if he wanted and it didn’t let on just how badly Stiles wanted him to say yes. He jostled his knee up and down and tapped his foot while he waited for Derek’s reply. 

Stiles wasn’t sure why he was so involved in the idea of being alone with Derek in the forest, but he had a pretty good suspicion that the fae parts of him were to blame. He liked being around Derek anywhere, but being out in nature with him, surrounded by trees and air and earth and the sunlight? The complete need for that was definitely not a human-based desire.

His phone pinged and it startled him so much he almost dropped it. He ended up doing a kind of fumbling juggling act before he got his hands to work and managed to catch the phone before it hit the floor.

Derek's text read:

\- Where did you want to go?

Did that mean Derek would go with him, or was just curious, or both? Stiles wanted to ask, but didn’t.

\- There are trails out the back of my house. 

Derek’s reply was almost instant.

\- You up for it?

There was that concern that Stiles liked so much. He smiled as he replied:

\- Yeah. You can come over whenever you like.

Derek took his time answering, and Stiles started jiggling his knee again. 

\- I’ve got some stuff to do in the morning, but I can come afterwards.

Stiles let out a whoop and then winced, hoping it hadn’t disturbed his dad. He dropped his phone on his bed as he fell back. He put his arms out above his head and gave a satisfied sigh. The rational part of him could tell he was being slightly teenager-crush-silly. It was a small part. Most of him was grinning and doing a little dance in his head. 

 

***


	9. The Aspens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two steps forward, one step back.

Stiles was feeling especially good when he woke up. The feeling had lasted through breakfast and into mid-morning. Today was the day he was going into the forest with Derek. 

After brushing his teeth, Stiles looked in the bathroom mirror above the sink and found the bruise lines on his face and neck were almost gone. From a distance they wouldn’t be visible at all. The dark circles under his eyes were not as bad as they’d been either. Stiles grinned to himself. His face was almost back to normal. 

He hadn’t checked if the sunbathing he’d been doing had paid off everywhere else so he stripped down and eyed his skin. He let out a happy sigh. A lot of the bruising had completely gone. He’d also put on weight. Not as much as he needed, but his bones weren’t protruding and he couldn’t count his ribs anymore. He was still weak though. He’d been doing his physio but not as much as he should have, so he still needed his cane. The walk today was a good idea for more than one reason.

The walk. He could feel nerves building up about it. Happy little fizzes of pent-up excitement that made his stomach churn and his hands tingle. 

He pulled on clean pants and a shirt. Carrying his hoodie, he carefully made his way to the kitchen. It would be just his luck to trip over and injure himself in his haste to make this day finally start.

 

***

 

When Derek eventually came over, Stiles opened the door for him and with a barely inside-voice call of, “Hey, Derek! Come on!” pulled him inside. Or rather, he grabbed and tugged and Derek obligingly stepped through the doorway. 

Stiles kept a hand on him, just because, and after shutting the front door herded Derek into the kitchen. “We’re good to go!” 

Derek was chuckling as he stood next to him, “You have a bit more energy today.” He moved and his hip brushed up against Stiles. 

Stiles hesitated for a split second and then patted Derek’s arm. “Yep!” He grabbed two water bottles off the kitchen bench and placed them in a small backpack which he held out to Derek. “Do you mind? I would but that may be asking too much.”

Derek returned the smile he sent his way, reached out, and ran his fingers through Stiles’ hair. Halfway through the motion his eyes widened and his hand paused. 

Stiles used his own hand to press Derek’s to the side of his head, then let go. He was smiling when he said, “Come on!”

Derek dropped his hand, his fingers trailing down Stiles’ cheek lightly. It tickled and Stiles’ smile grew wider. 

“Lead the way,” Derek said in a soft voice. He put the pack on his back. His shirt pulled tight across his front from the straps and Stiles took a sneaky moment to appreciate it. 

Today was going to be awesome, he could just feel it.

 

***

 

They’d gotten down the edge of the fire break, which was a flat-bottomed ditch as wide as a two way road, with Derek holding his elbow to help steady him. Derek had gone up the other side first, pulling Stiles up by his hand. It was awkward and had him laughing when he found himself on the other side, standing under the trees.

“What?” Derek asked, his lips twitching like Stiles’ happiness was catching. 

“That could have been so much worse! I’m just happy I made it,” he explained. He’d had a moment where he thought he was going to slide down on his face, but Derek had stopped that from happening.

“Isn’t there an easier access point?” Derek asked as he waited for Stiles to show him the way. “And wasn’t there supposed to be a trail?”

Stiles was having fun crunching every leaf, that wasn’t flat mush, under his feet. He hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d taken the first step into the forest. “Oh, yeah, of course,” he said to Derek’s query. “It’s that way.” He pointed to his right. “But it’s at the other end of the suburb. This way’s faster and the trail’s just a little way in, we’ll meet up with it soon.”

The aspen forest had more undergrowth than the preserve, so they took their time, stepping around bushes and over dropped branches and lumpy ground, Stiles making sure he didn’t trip with his cane. It meant Derek ended up having his hand on him almost constantly. A definite benefit rather than a hindrance.

They walked in relative silence for a short while until, just as Stiles said, the ground evened out and a well-made forest trail appeared before them, running perpendicular to the way they’d been traveling.

What Stiles had always liked about this part of the walk was the way the trees were close to the trail’s edge. The community group who’d made it hadn’t wanted to cut down any of the trees, so the path meandered in and out. Other places were wider and more public-access friendly. Those were the trails he and Scott had ridden their bikes through when they were younger. 

“I know this part of the trail really well,” Stiles told Derek as he started out to their left. 

There was a small wind in the topmost branches of the aspens which didn’t reach below where Stiles and Derek walked. It caused the branches to creak and sway gently, moving the sunlight into dancing patterns which captivated Stiles’ attention. He could feel the sun shining down through the thin bare branches, the tall white and gray trunks casting long shadows onto the forest floor. In some places the trees grew so close together, it wasn’t possible to walk between them. 

“You came here a lot with Scott?” Derek asked. 

Stiles turned from watching the light to admiring Derek. He was wearing his faded jeans and a green sweater which, when coupled with his boots and the backpack, gave the impression he spent a lot of time in the forest. Stiles had to smile when he thought that, because if anyone was a forest dweller, it was a wolf. 

“Stiles?” Derek stood waiting.

“Um, no. Not here. There are trails further to the south-east that we rode.”

“But you said you knew this place well?” 

They were walking side by side and Derek’s fingers were brushing the back of Stiles’ hand. He entertained the idea of twining their fingers together but he was immensely comfortable with how things were, so he just kept walking. 

“Yeah,” he answered Derek’s question after a little pause. “I used to come here all the time before Scott was bitten, but then I just stopped coming.”

“It's easy to let things fall away. They become less important as time goes on,” Derek offered.

“Not anymore. Not for me.” Stiles wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that, but it was true. From the moment he’d stepped into the forest something had settled in his bones.

Derek gave him a curious glance, but his next question was not what Stiles thought it would be. "Did you come here alone?”

“I did,” Stiles nodded. “I’ve never actually brought anyone here with me before. It was always just my place. Dad knows about it of course, but he never came.”

They stopped walking and faced each other, standing close on the forest path. 

“Your mom?” Derek asked.

“No. I don’t know if she walked here herself, but it was never with me. The trails were made after she was gone. She would have loved it here. We had picnics at the preserve grounds all the time with dad because she loved the trees.” Stiles' smile turned wistful. “She would have been so curious about this fae stuff.”

There was no pity in Derek’s eyes as he listened, just a deep understanding. He said nothing, but Stiles didn’t need him to. They just stood there together until Stiles turned and continued walking. 

 

***

 

Stiles was having a great afternoon. They’d been walking for under an hour, but time seemed to stretch and become almost unreal. To his delight, he got to see how Derek loved the forest like he did. He hadn’t guessed how knowledgeable Derek was about forests, but it made a kind of sense given his family home had been in the preserve. Derek had grown up surrounded by trees. 

Stiles had lost that giddy almost-drunk feeling of the morning’s anticipation. Instead, a deep joy had taken up residence in his chest. It had everything to do with where he was and who he was with.

He was so comfortable with Derek. He’d honestly never had this sort of connection with anyone before. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was projecting his deeper desires, but he liked to think it wasn’t just that. Somehow, without them being around each other for months, their friendship had changed for the better. They’d managed to get to a completely different place with nothing but memories to guide them. It was an amazing situation. 

They’d stopped to drink water every now and again, Derek insisting Stiles sit down and rest his legs. He was feeling an ache in his muscles but he said nothing. They needed to cut off from the trail around the next bend to get back to where they’d started. The short cut wasn’t long, and Stiles was positive he could hold up until they got home.

Derek was a bit skeptical when Stiles said, “Through here,” and took a step off the trail.

“But the path keeps going this way,” Derek motioned with his head.

“Yeah, but if we take that we’ll have an extra hour and a half walk to come back round to where we were. We didn’t start on the smaller trail, we’re on the bigger one. If we cut through here, we end up back at the firebreak where we came into the forest.” Stiles moved into the trees. 

“How do you know the way?” Derek was close behind him.

“I know this trail, I told you.”

“But this isn’t the trail, Stiles. To know this part, you’d have had to walk off into the forest with no idea where you were going.”

Stiles turned back to him, trying not to chuckle. “You’ve met me, right? Now imagine me younger, alone in a forest, and I can either keep following the trail or go somewhere I possibly shouldn’t and do it without anyone knowing.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Of course. You didn’t get lost?”

“Not so lost that I wasn’t able to find myself again. If I did get muddled, I just kept going north-west and would eventually come out somewhere in my suburb.”

Derek was shaking his head now, “Did no one ever come across you, or wonder where you were?”

“No. When dad was home, I stayed to the trails. And I was very good at hiding if anyone came by.”

“Stiles, really.”

“What? I had ADHD, was bullied at school, and didn’t always have Scott to hang around with even after we were friends.“ Stiles grinned at Derek. “It’s no wonder that I wandered.”

Derek groaned, but there was amusement in his expression.

They came upon a tiny clearing, barely fifteen feet across. Derek said, “The deer must have gotten really hungry this winter.” He walked over to one of the aspen trees and ran his hand over it. Below his hand the bark had been stripped off. 

Stiles had watched deer eating the aspen now and again. They liked the green fleshy parts underneath the tough outer layer. The tree Derek was looking at had big strips of its bark missing. Being a thin tree, it had almost been ring-barked. Stiles stepped up and put his hand on the trunk like Derek had. 

“It will probably die,” Derek continued. “They don’t tend to live when they’ve lost so much. You can see where the deer have done similar damage to the others.” He pointed around them at the bark missing from several other trees.

Stiles nodded, somewhat preoccupied, as he ran his hand over the tree’s bark. There was a scratching in his mind like a mental itch, that grew stronger as he focussed on it. His fingers touched the exposed inner part of the tree and he gasped, understanding coming to him like a light being turned on. A corner of his mind he'd never used before lit up and stretched, reaching out to the tree under his hand. He had the discombobulated sensation of free falling, and suddenly he was much more than just himself. He was also the tree. 

He could feel the tree trying to push water and nutrients up and down its trunk, the flow getting disrupted where the bark had been lost. It was a loosing battle as time was not this tree’s ally. Derek was right. The tree was dying.

Derek’s hand on his shoulder had Stiles shuddering as sudden heat ran down his arm. A rush of concern-protect-help hit him like he’d run into a wall. 

Stiles pulled his hand off the tree and almost fell backwards. He immediately lost the connection he’d had with it. He was caught by Derek as he stumbled. 

“Stiles?!” 

All Stiles could feel was Derek’s concern for him. It was a never-ending swell and he was drowning in it. “Just give me a second! Stop, Derek! Let go!”

Derek dropped his hands and stepped away. Without his support, Stiles fell and ended up on his knees. He winced at the pain, and tried to catch his breath.

“What was that? Are you okay?” Derek knelt down in front of him. He reached out and Stiles reflexively jerked away. Derek pulled his hands back and clenched them on his thighs.

It was then that Stiles’ leg started to cramp. He sat down awkwardly.

“Stiles?”

“Leg cramp,” Stiles explained, flinching as his other leg went the same way.

“What can I do?”

“Nothing at the moment. Just wait.” Stiles tipped his head back so the sunlight fell on his face, then he stayed still until the cramps were completely gone. Moving too soon would cause them to start up again. 

Derek asked, “Care to explain what the hell just happened?”

“You mean the tree thing, the you thing, or the leg thing?”

Derek’s eyebrows rose and he gaped a bit. “All of it! Start with the tree thing.”

“Well, that’s never actually happened before.”

“What happened?”

“I was able to feel the tree’s feelings?” Stiles frowned. He rubbed a hand lightly over his leg muscles. “No, that’s not right. When I touched the tree, I could sense what was happening with it. You’re right, it’s dying.”

“You can sense the trees,” Derek nodded slowly. “Okay. Now explain the thing with me you mentioned.”

“Um, you know, I think that explanation has to wait until I’m back home.” Stiles expected Derek to argue because it was blatantly obvious he was stalling. 

Derek eyed him, his gaze coming to rest on Stiles’ hands where he was still massaging his calves. He asked, “You in any pain?”

Stiles shook his head. It wasn’t pain he had trouble dealing with, but a lack of muscle control. While Derek continued to watch closely, he managed to get up onto his knees. He pushed up on his cane and by some miracle, stood upright. The miracle ended when his legs promptly gave out and he collapsed, only for Derek to catch him before he hit the ground.

Stiles hung in Derek’s arms. “I should be paying you for all the times you’ve done that.”

“You couldn’t afford me,” Derek said dryly.

“Why? Don’t you have a payment plan option?” Stiles quipped. He tried to put more weight on his legs but they were done for the day. 

Derek shifted his hold on Stiles. “How far is it to the trail?” he asked.

“About ten minutes. Why?” 

Without warning Derek scooped him up, and Stiles once again found himself in a strong capable embrace. He put his arm around Derek’s neck and curled his fingers to lay against skin. His other hand held his cane out of Derek's way.

For the next little while, he directed Derek through the trees until they reached the trail. They came out a little further away then he’d anticipated. He blamed that on the warm fuzzy head-space he’d been drifting in. He was getting tired again in a way that was annoyingly familiar. 

He’d just had an inkling of a thought connected to that, when Derek found where they’d entered the forest. They looked down at the ditch. It was dauntingly huge to Stiles right then.

“You won’t be able to get down and back up, will you,” Derek stated, and Stiles shook his head.

Suddenly, they were sliding down the bank. Stiles gripped Derek tighter and held his breath as Derek landed smoothly and started to run. He hit the other side of the ditch and in one bound they came to a stop on the border of Stiles’ backyard.

“Ninja Warrior, eat your heart out!” Stiles cried. He placed a hand over Derek’s chest where his heart thumped along at a relatively normal pace. His own heart had yet to come down from his mouth. “Dude, that was freaking awesome! I mean, you’ve done stuff like that before, but you were carrying me and I’ve never actually experienced anything like that, and you’re not even out of breath!” 

Derek tried to hide a pleased smile. “Werewolf.”

“Still impressed. Werewolf you is impressive. You’re impressive all round, all over.” 

Derek chuckled and walked with Stiles up to the back of the house. 

Stiles’ foray into adrenalin-overload fell off him as quickly as it had hit. He slid into a heavy thick lethargy. “Derek? I’m going to fall asleep on you. Don’t worry, I’ve worked out why it happens.”

“Stiles, what do I tell your dad?”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

 

***

 

When Stiles woke up he was in the living room, covered in a mound of blankets, the pillow from his bed under his cheek. The curtains were shut, the only illumination coming from the lamp behind him. His dad was sitting near his feet on the edge of the couch. 

“Son,” his dad said, and sighed.

Stiles shrunk in on himself when he heard the exhale, it being his least favourite of his dad's non-verbal condemnations. It incorporated all the disappointed relief he felt when Stiles screwed up but was relatively okay afterwards. It never failed in making Stiles dislike himself that little bit more.

“Where’s Derek?” he asked, figuring it was a safe thing to say.

His dad's face immediately darkened before he nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen.

“Derek?” Stiles called, sitting up a little.

Derek entered the living room and sat on the empty couch, folding his arms over his chest and looking at the floor. 

Stiles eyed him and then his dad, the air so thick between the two of them it was obvious something had happened. Stiles was betting it was about the walk and him falling asleep again after he said he wouldn't. 

Before his dad could say anything, he began, “I overdid it with the walking. It’s not Derek’s fault, though. I kept going when I should have stopped.”

“You passed out from it, Stiles,” his dad argued.

“No. I didn’t. That was actually something else.”

“Then you’d better tell me what it was, because what I’m thinking right now isn’t good."

Stiles frowned, not liking the angry red patches on his dad's cheeks or how remote Derek seemed to this whole situation. 

“The only thing our walk did was make my legs ache. It didn’t make me pass out. Nothing made me pass out. I fell asleep because my body is changing and sometimes that catches up with me.”

“Your body is —”

“Changing. You know this. And yes, it's connected to being fae, Dad.”

His dad shook his head like he was trying to dismiss what Stiles said. 

Stiles clenched his jaw before saying, “Out in the forest something happened and it tired me out. Derek couldn’t have prevented it.” He wasn’t going to let that go. His dad could blame him all he wanted, but not Derek.

“What did happen?” his dad asked.

Stiles went quiet. It didn’t feel right to tell him. 

"Explain it to me," his dad ordered.

Stiles cut his eyes over to Derek. “I can talk to trees now,” he said, knowing how it sounded. 

“Talk to trees,” his dad said succinctly.

“Yeah. Didn’t even know I could until I touched one and then, well,” he shrugged slightly.

“And then what, your body needs to recharge? And you keep on going this way until what?”

“Until it stops.”

“And you’re fully this thing,” his dad waved a hand towards him.

“Fae.” Stiles tried not to be hurt from being called ‘this thing’.

“God.” His dad rubbed a palm over his eyes. “You’re not going to sprout wings, are you?” 

“No. I get that your angry, but it’s misplaced. I didn’t do anything wrong. Neither did Derek.”

“Son —”

“That’s how it is,” Stiles said adamantly.

Derek stood up. He raised his eyes to Stiles, but wouldn’t hold his gaze. Something inside of Stiles hurt. 

“I should go." 

“What? No.” 

“Derek,” sighed Stiles’ dad. ”I was wrong. I don’t like admitting it, but when I am, I do. I apologize.” 

“Stiles, I’ll talk to you later,” Derek said and walked out of the room. 

The bad feeling swirled and rose up in Stiles’ throat. “Derek!” he called out to him.

“Not right now, Stiles,” his dad shook his head at him. 

They listened to Derek leave the house. When his car drove off, Stiles glared at his dad. “What did you say to him?” 

His dad had a rueful expression but stubbornly said, “I’m within my rights to protect my child.”

“What did you do?” 

“I told Derek he should have taken better care of you. I told him if he couldn’t, he should think through his actions and back off.”

“Back off?” There was a distinct possibility Stiles was going to be sick.

“From you.”

Stiles swallowed down bile. “Dad, you don’t have the right.”

“I’m your father!” 

“Yes. And you’re scared and all sorts of angry at everything that’s happening. But that doesn’t mean you get to tell Derek not to be my friend."

His dad had never done it before. Even when his friends probably deserved it, and there were more than a few times with Scott, his dad had never interfered. What gave him the audacity to try it now? 

“Derek isn’t the same kind of friend everyone else is, Stiles.”

Was that what this was, his dad having a problem with his feelings for Derek? 

Stiles clenched his hands in his blankets. He was shaking. “How I feel about Derek shouldn’t weigh in on this, Dad. But if you want to go there, we’ll go there. You want things out in the open? Fine. But you’re going to listen to what I say. I’m in love with Derek. I know it’s been less than a week since he started hanging out here with me, but I’ve loved him a lot longer than that.”

“I know, son.”

“So you should also know if you push him away, if you make him go, if he leaves, you and I won’t be okay.”

“Stiles?”

Stiles hadn’t actually known that ultimatum was going to come out, but he wouldn’t take it back. “I’m done now.” He turned away from his dad in blatant dismissal. 

His dad quietly stood up. He placed his hand on the blankets over Stiles' foot. 

“Stiles, I’ll fix this.”

 

***

 

Stiles slept on the couch that night. He was exhausted; physically, mentally and emotionally. He woke up numerous times with leg cramps and bad dreams he couldn’t recall. With such a disrupted sleep, he was bleary-eyed when his dad checked on him before going to work.

“Stiles?” His dad actually kneeled before him on the floor. “I’m going to work now. Will you be okay?”

“Yeah.”

His dad ran his hand over Stiles’ hair, searching his face before saying, “If you sleep all day, I won’t ‘freak out’ okay?”

“You sure?” Stiles had to ask. 

His dad’s mouth pulled down. “I didn’t remember, but Lydia explained why it may happen. PTSD withdrawing, I think she called it.”

“That’s not what yesterday was about,” Stiles yawned.

“No, I know.” His dad was silent for a while before he said, “Yesterday was the first time you’ve volunteered information to me about all this.”

Stiles guessed then that some of his dad’s outburst had been because he was working with a limited amount of knowledge. For a cop that’s annoying enough, but being a dad as well, he must be frustrated in ways Stiles couldn’t fathom. He still didn’t care for what his dad had done, but he understood it better.

“You know you hurt him,” he told his dad. “You need to fix it, like you said. But not for me. For him.” 

His dad had an unreadable expression on his face. “Well, there’s something that hasn’t changed.”

“What?”

“How strongly you love.”

Stiles hid his embarrassment with another yawn.

 

***

 

Stiles woke up a couple of times and made sure to eat something, even though he wasn’t hungry. He also managed to go to the bathroom. Both were mammoth undertakings and he was worried he wasn’t going to make it back to the couch each time as his legs hadn’t forgiven him for yesterday. It was ironic that they were giving him so much grief when at the beginning of his recovery they were the least injured parts of him. 

He’d managed to pull open the curtains in the living room earlier, and the sun was streaming in on him as he lay on the couch. He shoved off his blankets and slept like a cat; stretched out fully in the sun, hoping it would help him heal. 

When he woke up again, it was late afternoon. His first and most coherent thought was about Derek. Stiles should have called him. Just as he was thinking it, he was startled by a pinging noise coming from above his head. He struggled up and peered confusedly over the arm of the couch at the side table. It was his phone. He had no idea how it had gotten there. He picked it up and felt a piece of paper stuck on the bottom. He flipped it over and peeled off a post-it note written in Derek's handwriting.

It read:

\- Found this on your bed. Had a pretty good idea you’d misplaced it again. 

Stiles re-read the note a half dozen times before he put it carefully on the side table. He checked his phone and found that it had been Derek who’d texted him just before.

\- Your dad called me.

Stiles clenched his phone tight. That could mean a lot of things. It didn’t give him any indicators as to how Derek was feeling. He asked:

\- Did he apologize correctly this time?

Derek answered back almost immediately.

\- He did. He also told me how you strongly suggested he do it.

Stiles was surprised. He hadn’t thought his dad would mention that. He didn’t mind though.

\- He needed to. Did it help?

There was a slight wait for Derek’s next reply, then:

\- It did. So thanks.

Stiles was slowly going crazy having to text Derek when he really just wanted to hear his voice, so he called him. The phone rang once before ending the call. He tried a few more times with the same result, so he reverted back to text.

\- Could you call me? My phone cut out when I tried.

Derek answered quickly:

\- Sure.

Stiles waited. It felt like ages before he got another text.

\- Can’t get through. Your dad invited me to dinner tomorrow. Is that all right?

Stiles snorted. His dad was going all out.

\- More than okay by me.

Derek sent:

\- I’ll see you tomorrow then.

Stiles smiled. Derek was doing okay if his texts were anything to go by. It made Stiles feel lighter. He replied:

\- See you.

Just as he sent the text, his phone suddenly shut off. He pressed the power button but nothing happened. The thought of walking to his bedroom for the charger had him groaning, so he gave up and dropped his phone over his head onto the table behind him.

 

***

 

Stiles was sitting under the shower spray with his head tipped forward, the water running down the back of his neck. When he’d woken up this morning his legs were fine again, able to take his weight with help from his cane. He wasn't worried about his dad and Derek either, so he was relaxed and loose and calm in a way he hadn’t been for ages.

He took the opportunity to mull over the amazing thing that had happened with the aspen tree. It was exciting and wonderful and scarily intuitive and he wanted to do it again, to delve right into his magic and see how far he could go.

He’d been home less than two weeks and in that time he’d gone from being scared and worried, to worried and anticipating. The urge inside him was a simple thing; he needed to be outside. He could feel the walls of his house around him and he didn’t want it. He wanted sun, wind, earth and sky. 

Instead of fighting it, instead of waiting, Stiles was going to embrace this amazing thing that was happening to him. He was going out to the forest today, he was going to make contact with the trees, with the sunlight. He was going to find the fae. He was going to see what else was in store for him. He was ready.

 

***

 

By midday, Stiles was standing at the bottom of the fire-break. He’d slipped down the edge, sending small pebbles and dirt all over the place as he descended. The ditch was higher than his shoulders so he’d have to work at getting up the other side. After examining it, Stiles used the head of his cane like a pick axe and pulled himself up the incline.

When he stood at the top, he didn’t even look back. Just swung his cane in self-congratulatory pride for a few seconds, then stepped through into the aspen forest. The moment he entered, a part of him unfurled. Everything was more, and full, and magic, and wild. 

Stiles moved as quickly as he could, wanting to be deep in the forest. He came across the trail and didn’t take it, instead crossing diagonally to the right and heading further in. With the hand not holding his cane he started touching each tree he passed. He immediately sensed them. Flickering images of health and growth. It was just as amazing as the first time it had happened and Stiles was loving every minute of it. This was incredible, it was special. He was sinking into the trees, into the connecting electric stream that passed through the trees’ roots to each other. 

Each tree was in touch with the ones living around it. They were talking, talking, talking. Not in a language Stiles could communicate in, but he could tell it was occurring, could feel the consciousness of the trees as a whole living breathing community.

Sometimes he lingered on a particular tree and pressed his ear to the bark, hugging the tree as he did so, following the energy strands, learning the tree’s history and its present. It was like flipping the pages of a book, the further he went the more he learned, the more connected he became.

Stiles was moving quickly now; he was flittering between the trees, faster than a human could. He didn’t remember dropping his cane. He was running over the ground lightly, stepping with precise footsteps, lost in the beauty of everything around him. He was mesmerized by the sunlight, waving his hands through it, the energy zipping over his skin, feeling it nipping at his cheeks as it did when he was astral projecting. 

One second, Stiles was surrounded by aspen trees, turning around in delighted circles, bathed in sunlight. 

The next, he was at the Nemeton, and face to face with his fae creator.

 

***


	10. The Fae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when things were looking up ...

Stiles was exalted, overwhelmed by feeling so much. He cried out and fell into the open arms of the fae, who smiled and held him close. 

The fae’s human-like form was no longer hidden in misty air. Visible in all its detail, it was a contradiction to Stiles. He’d never considered what the fae might be like without its camouflage, but if he had he would have been completely wrong in his assumptions.

Stiles could feel magic wrapped up in the being before him. The fae didn’t just have magic; it was magic. Natural and complete and so outside anything he'd ever been exposed to before.

The fae’s form was a little shorter than him, lithe, unclothed, and male in it’s appearance. Its face was a puzzle of connecting angles that spoke of inhumanness. Its chin and jaw too pointy, eyes too wide and dark, nose a straight line, cheekbones sharp and cutting. Its ears were hidden under streams of thick black hair that moved in a wind that was not there.

Stiles got lost for a minute just watching the movement of the strands lifting and falling slowly by themselves. It gave the effect of the fae swimming underwater. Stiles touched the side of the fae’s face near its hairline. Touched the hard, smooth skin and the soft subtle lengths of hair. The hair didn’t stop moving as Stiles pushed his hand into it. It curled around and stroked his fingers.

The fae allowed Stiles his perusal. It waited with a calm and predatory grin of one who’d gotten what they’d been hunting for. 

It tightened its arms almost imperceptibly and Stiles could tell it was preternaturally strong. He could easily believe the fae to be even stronger than werewolves. He could feel it in the solidness of the body under his hands. Stiles wasn’t stressed about the fae being naked. Such a creature had no need of clothes. He was also beginning to understand why the fae had said it was the wind, the rain, the sunlight and the earth. 

Its skin was pale, almost transparent, and it had a dull glow trapped underneath it, the colour of sky-gray clouds, of downy feathers. The fae tipped its head sideways, still watching Stiles. The colour underneath its skin rippled, changed, and it was the lemon-green of new growth, of moss growing in cracks. 

Stiles stepped back to watch, still held by the fae’s hands, as its skin changed again and again. Flowing endlessly, the very essence of nature bound into form; the yellow burst of bitten citrus, the damp brown secret recesses of caves, the deepest indigo of dark waters. The variant colours were endless, beautiful and mesmerizing. 

Stiles touched the fae’s chest, running his hands down the plains of its skin, sensing a natural connection to each and every color tone. When he came back to himself, the fae was laughing in happiness, and Stiles was swaying. 

The fae grasped Stiles to him in another hug, and whispered with fierce pride, “Well met, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles.”

Stiles' forehead rested on the fae’s own. “Well met.”

He understood now why the fae called him that. It wasn’t only that he went by a nickname. The very nature of the wild was to be un-named. Un-bound. Un-fettered. Stiles would never ask the fae its name, he wasn’t sure it even had one. It was, as it had always said, whatever it wanted to be.

“You have come,” the fae announced.

“Yes. But I don’t know how.”

The aspen forest connected to the preserve, but it wasn’t easy to get from where Stiles had been to where he was now. Not normally, anyway.

“You stepped through the light, and we helped by directing you here.” The fae was moving its hands up and under Stiles’ shirts. 

Stiles reciprocated by pulling the fae even closer, one hand on its back, one low on its waist, until they were pressed flush against each other. 

The fae’s mouth was a wide slit of a grin and its pointy teeth bit into its bottom lip.

Every touch of its skin made Stiles want to get closer. It wasn’t so much a sexual thing, as a magical, wild fae awakening. The touches were smooth and needy, and pulled at something deep within him.

“The poison is gone, the change can be finalized,” the fae stated. 

The condensed air that had hidden the fae on the astral plane become visible to Stiles, swirling around the both of them, catching up his hair and twisting it so it moved like the fae’s. 

Stiles was swimming in a calm ocean, walking through a misty rainforest, and standing in the middle of a lightning storm. Floating, refreshed and electrified. And so thirsty with wanting. Stiles wanted everything so much, yet it was just out of reach. 

“Help me,” he whispered to the fae.

The fae laughed happily and slotted its mouth over Stiles’, forcing its tongue inside, opening him up wide, wider. Its hands held his face and Stiles eyes were open and fixed on the fae’s infinitely black ones. Its eyes were swirling pools, and Stiles pushed his mouth closer because it wasn’t close enough.

He could feel something pressing into him, energy pouring into his mouth and he sucked it in; wanted it in every part of him. He wanted everything the fae would give him. 

He was suddenly hard and throbbing in his jeans and he rocked his hips into the fae’s. It pressed back and they writhed together as the fae washed away Stiles’ confusion, gave him knowledge, helped him understand who he was. Stiles learnt he would never be exactly like the fae in his arms. His beginnings were human and he would always hold pieces of that within him. He was changed but un-changed. More, and unique, and forever special to the fae who had chosen him, who had changed him.

The energy filled up Stiles’ chest and he breathed in further, trying to encompass every bit. It stopped flowing after an indeterminate period of time, and Stiles swallowed. The fae licked his teeth with its clever tongue and Stiles turned the open-mouthed press of lips into a wet kiss, headless of the fae’s sharp teeth. 

He pulled back as if shocked. His arousal disappeared like it had never been. “Derek!” he gasped out. This was wrong. He didn’t want to kiss the fae.

The fae looked ethereal as the dark cast its pointed face into distorted shadowed shapes. No longer the afternoon, it was now night.

Stiles looked up at the sky, but instead of a fathomless black; there was a multitude of tones. Blues, purples, and the brightest of bright illuminated stars. So many stars. So many more than he’d ever perceived. 

The fae tilted its head and ran its hands through Stiles’ hair. “Your pair bond with your wolf is strong,” it said. It wasn’t upset by Stiles pulling away; letting him go when he stepped back.

“Pair bond?”

Stiles had read about that. It wasn’t a supernatural phenomenon. Animals, birds and other creatures were capable of it. It was normally referred to as a life-long bond. It was confusing that the fae called his attraction and love for Derek as such. It required both parties to reciprocate. 

Stiles shook his head. “There is no pair bond. What you’re sensing would be the pack bond.”

The fae tipped its head to the other side and regarded him curiously. “Your mind is a confusion. That will clear in time.”

Stiles was about to ask what the fae meant when he heard Derek calling to him. He immediately turned around, looking for him. “Derek?” he called out.

Derek came running into the grove. He was in beta wolf form, his blue eyes shining in the dark, looking past Stiles to the fae. He grabbed Stiles and pulled him to his side. Standing alongside him, Stiles could feel the sub-sonic growl that was coming from behind his fangs. 

“It’s alright, Derek.” Stiles placed his hand on a tense shoulder.

Derek spared him a quick glance, still growling.

The fae nodded its head, appraisingly. “Well met, Wolf.”

Derek stilled, and Stiles squeezed his hand. The growling stopped. At Stiles’ meaningful look and head-motion towards the fae, Derek said back, with only a little hesitation, “Well met.” 

The fae smiled secretively at Stiles and bowed. “Your path is now long, your choices are your own, Wild Chosen Fae.” 

Stiles bowed back. “Thank you.” He wanted to say so much more, but he couldn’t.

The fae was gone a second later. It had left the preserve having finished what it started. Stiles was completely fae. 

He couldn’t help but smile and raise up his hand to smooth the frown off Derek’s face. As he touched him, Derek’s face changed back into his human features. Stiles could feel the shift under his fingertips and marveled at the trust Derek had in him to allow it. 

Derek pulled him into a hug, crushing him into his chest tightly. Stiles hugged him back and had to laugh a little when Derek grunted. He waggled his eyebrows at him. “Fae aren’t weak, apparently,” he explained with another laugh. 

“So that’s it, it’s all done?” Derek asked.

Stiles nodded. “Yeah.”

“How do you feel?” Derek reached up and ran his fingers across Stiles’ forehead, the ridge of his eyebrows and down his nose.

Stiles shut his eyes and sighed deeply. Derek’s touch felt wonderful. “I’m great,” he smiled.

Derek kept touching him, stroking his jaw. “You’re not so different.”

Stiles frowned, “What?”

“Your face,” Derek explained. “I’ve wanted to have a close look since the first time. You’re intriguing.”

“What about my face?” Stiles instantly felt paranoid. 

Derek dropped his hand and stared at him. “Don’t you know?”

“Would I be asking if I had even the slightest idea what you’re talking about?” 

“You’re just like werewolves, Stiles. Your face changes.”

Stiles was completely surprised. “I have fae face?” He reached up his hands to touch his cheeks.

Derek snorted. “Well, I guess that’s one name for it. You have it right now. You can’t tell?”

Stiles didn’t answer him, his fingers were running over his skin, noticing slight changes. He looked at his hands, but there were no claws, just his normal fingernails. “What do I look like?” he asked, not entirely sure he wanted to know. 

Derek picked up on his apprehension and placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “You’re still you. Only with pointer features. Your eyes are glowing gray, your cheeks are more defined. And some of your teeth have points, like tiny fangs. They’re cute.” 

Derek ran his thumb over his lips, and Stiles parted them. Derek watched him closely. “You’re still you. No matter what, no matter which face you show, Stiles. You’re beautiful.”

Stiles’ eyes widened, and he puffed out a little gasp of air against Derek’s thumb. Greatly daring and not really thinking, he closed his lips around it. 

Derek sucked in a breath and his eyes went wide. His thumb sat just inside Stiles’ mouth on his bottom teeth. Stiles’ tongue swiped over Derek’s thumb tip without conscious thought. 

“Stiles,” Derek sounded broken.

Stiles had no idea what he was doing. Heat was flowing out from Derek. It was rushing like wind, full of want-protect-cherish. Stiles was desperate to take it all in, fill himself up with it.

Derek removed his thumb from Stiles’ mouth and cupped his jaw. Stiles licked his lips again and Derek followed the movement like he wanted to do it himself, with his own tongue. He bent his head forward, and Stiles moved towards him.

“Derek.” Stiles sounded just as lost as Derek had. 

Scott came skidding into the grove, yelling out Stiles’ name. Derek and Stiles jumped apart, and Scott grabbed Stiles in a hug that would have been bone crushing just that morning, but was now little more than extra tight. 

Stiles brought up his hands to pat Scott on the back, staring at Derek over his shoulder.

Derek stared back at him. He ran his hands through his hair, pulling at it a little, before he dropped them. 

Liam and Kira came crashing through the grove, making a hell of a lot of noise for a few minutes, before they too came upon Stiles and he was subjected to even more relieved hugs.

 

***

 

Stiles was sitting on the ground near the preserve entrance sign. Scott and Liam were on their phones, letting everyone know they’d found him. He was a bit behind on things, but apparently while he’d been in the preserve, everyone went into full action-mode, trying to find him. He was indifferent to the whole situation. He hadn’t been lost. He hadn’t been in danger. He hadn’t been doing anything he shouldn’t have been. And he really didn’t care that Scott and the pack and his dad had problems with his behavior. 

Stiles was pretty sure his face was back to his human features, had changed back the second Scott turned up, because no one was looking at him like he was something strange. They were just treating him like he was. When they’d gotten to the sign, Stiles had been told to sit and wait by Scott of all people, who’d then placed Kira on Stiles-watching duty. He’d been surprised that he was considered a flight risk. He found it kind of funny in a sad, resigned way, which was why he’d sat down and not told Scott where he could shove his order. That, and it had made Derek relax.

Stiles would have liked Derek to have stayed with them, but he’d melted away into the forest soon after they’d gotten to the sign. No one had stopped him, and Stiles wasn’t sure what to say so he’d said nothing.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah, Scott?” 

Scott had been so relieved when he’d found Stiles that it had taken him a while before he’d started to get angry. Stiles had listened to him rant for a solid minute while feeling like a child being reprimanded for wondering off.

“Bro?” he asked, when Scott didn’t say anything.

“You’re in so much trouble, dude.” Scott surprised Stiles by sitting down next to him. 

Kira and Liam were waiting a little distance away from them, giving them the illusion of privacy. Liam was twirling Stiles’ cane. He’d found it in the aspen forest, but it had become apparent to them all very quickly that Stiles had no further use for it.

“Why though?” Stiles asked. 

“You’re kidding, right?” Scott snorted. “Dude, you ran off.”

“No, I didn’t. I went for a walk. Considering we’ve spent nights out in the preserve before, I’m confused by everyone’s attitude about this.”

Scott obviously didn’t know what to say. He blinked and then opened his mouth before closing it again. Finally he asked, “Why didn’t you just call?”

It was Stiles turn to pause. His phone was where, again? Somewhere in the house. He hadn’t even thought of taking it with him. “I forgot my phone.”

“You forgot your phone?” Scott asked in slight disbelief.

“It’s doable, people have done it before, people will do it in the future. Phones get forgotten, Scott.”

Before Scott could answer, the cruiser’s lights shone on them and Stiles’ dad pulled up. 

“Bro,” Scott patted Stiles on the shoulder before getting up to stand with Liam and Kira.

Stiles squinted at the headlights of the car and titled his head a little, but didn’t get up right away. He could imagine his dad sitting behind the wheel, trying not to get out and start yelling. Stiles didn’t feel like listening to it. 

He sighed, and got up slowly. “Uh, I guess, thanks, for looking for me,” he said to Kira and Liam, rubbing the back of his neck.

They were definitely treating him strangely. Liam had a wide-eyed stare he hadn’t lost since he’d given Stiles a hug back in the grove, and Kira was having trouble looking him in the eye for longer than two seconds. They both nodded. 

Liam said, “See ya,” and tossed Stiles his cane, which he caught without fumbling.

Scott’s eyes widened in surprise at the neat catch.

Liam whispered, “Nice one,” and grinned at him. 

When Stiles put his hand on the cruiser’s passenger door handle, he had to stop. He’d been running on a natural high, literally, all afternoon, and now he was about to get in a metal box. He didn’t want to be anywhere near the car, wanted to go back to the trees, and there was such a strong pull to do it that he stepped away.

“Stiles?” Kira queried. 

Stiles shook his head at her, distracted, and squashed down the uneasy feelings. He shook out his hand which had pins and needles in it and reached forward again. He opened the car door and slid inside, dropping his cane near his feet. When he’d shut the door, he turned to face his dad. It was an easier move to make then to acknowledge he had effectively shut out the natural world and replaced it with one of steel. He put a hand up to his throat and rubbed at the skin.

His dad shot him a quick assessing glance, then reversed down the road and got onto the highway. They drove in silence for a few minutes. During this time Stiles regulated his breathing, taking slow even breaths to cage his growing unease.

His dad asked, “Have you eaten anything?”

The question caught Stiles of guard. It wasn’t what he’d thought his dad would start with. “No.” Stiles didn’t even know if he’d eaten that morning. He couldn’t recall. 

“You hungry?”

“No.” Stiles had no idea if he was. He was feeling nauseous right then, so he’d say he wasn’t. 

“When we get home, you’re eating anyway.”

Stiles waited for the inevitable yelling to begin, but it didn’t. His dad was probably waiting until he wasn’t driving, just to be on the safe side. Normally, he would have been cringing having his dad so angry at him. But he’d been honest with Scott, he found it all entirely exasperating. He wasn’t a child that needed constant care and supervision.

When they arrived home, Stiles was a bundle of highly strung nerves. He tumbled out of the car in a hurry. “I need to go,” he waved at the side of the house and started walking quickly around the back.

His dad followed him. “Stiles, what?” He probably wanted to yell at him for his continued crazy-like behaviour, but was aware of the neighbors baring witness to anything that happened in the front yard.

When Stiles got to the back of the house, he kept going until he reached the sycamore tree. Then he fell against its trunk and sighed deeply in relief as the natural world wrapped back around him.

“Well, fuck,” he mumbled into the tree bark.

“Okay, Stiles, what the hell?” 

Stiles lifted his head and turned around, leaning up against the tree. He put both hands on the bark. He could feel the tree’s life flowing into his mind, but he could still focus on his dad. Who was, impressively, still not yelling at him but waiting for him to explain himself. 

“So, the car ride was not a good idea,” he started. 

“Why?” his dad frowned.

“I’m completely fae now. That’s what was happening today in the forest.”

His dad blanched. “You mean you’re no longer, you’re not human anymore?” 

Stiles hoped the shining in his dad’s eyes was the reflection from the house light. “Yeah. No more human Stiles.” 

“Oh.” His dad focussed on the ground between them.

“And um, I didn’t know until you turned up, but cars are not my most favourite way of traveling now. What with it being a big metal box.” 

"What?"

“I don’t do well with iron. Steel is an iron product. Cars use steel, etcetera, etcetera.”

“The car poisons you?” his dad asked, dismayed.

“Not like what you’re thinking!” Stiles rubbed at his neck, but dropped his hand when his dad frowned at the gesture. “Maybe it would if I stayed in one long enough, but I won't do that. I'll figure it out."

His dad just shook his head, still not fully understanding. 

“Um. Let me use Scott for an example. When he first got bit, he had trouble dealing with being able to see, smell, and hear things he couldn’t before. But now he’s used to it. My situation is similar.”

“So, you’ll get used to it?”

“Yeah.” Stiles mentally crossed his fingers. He hoped so. God, he hoped so.

“And today, you went out to become this?” 

Stiles squashed the hurt he felt when his dad waved at him, encompassing all of Stiles in his distaste for the situation. 

“Yeah.” 

“But why, Stiles, why? Why would you do that?” His dad had reached his limit of patience for the night. 

Stiles respond by becoming angry himself. He shouldn’t have to defend his choice. “Because, Dad, it was going to happen anyway, it should have already happened, but I got kidnapped! Changing slowly was hurting me, you saw it. I was always sleeping. I wasn’t happy. This was the only way to fix things.”

“It didn’t fix things! It changed you into a fairy!” 

Stiles was shocked into laughing. “A fairy? Really?” He shook his head at his dad. “I’m not a fairy, Dad. I’m not Tinker-Bell. I’m fae.”

“Fairy, fae, sounds the same to me,” his dad said, dismissively.

Stiles had to take some time before replying. “It’s not though. I suggest you do some reading on it.”

“I’d rather you tell me.”

Stiles shrugged, somewhat helplessly, “Well that’s going to be an issue, isn’t it. Considering I’m trying right now and you’re not listening. Plus, there’s things I won’t speak of.”

His dad narrowed his eyes at Stiles, “Here we go again with you keeping secrets from me.”

“Is that really a problem? I’ve always kept secrets, everyone does. You keep secrets from me. I don’t ask to know every detail of your life.” 

“But I wasn’t,” his dad stopped short.

“What?” Stiles asked, knowingly. “Taken? Kidnapped?” He sighed gently. “Almost killed?” 

His dad flinched.

Stiles continued, “Doesn’t mean you get to know every detail of my life. Lydia said everyone was holding on to me too tightly because of what happened. I know it hasn’t been that long, but I won’t let you do it anymore, Dad. You’re holding on too tight.”

“But I’m loosing you all over again.” His dad did have tears this time, glistening on his cheeks.

“No, you’re not. I’m right here.” 

“No. You’re not,” his dad repeated Stiles’ words, but the meaning was so different. 

Stiles sucked in a breath. It was like his dad had just hit him. There was a chasm opening up between the two of them. It must have been there for a while but he was only seeing how wide it was right now. 

His dad turned away. “Let’s go inside.”

“No.” Stiles felt hollow.

“What is it now?”

“I’m going to stay out here.” Stiles couldn’t go inside. It was strange being so close to the house. Touching the sycamore helped, but he still wanted to go back to the forest. And this thing with his dad didn’t help. Stiles couldn’t be around him right now. Didn’t want to be.

“What? You’re going to sleep out here all night?” His dad was exasperated, but Stiles didn’t feel like trying to fix this anymore.

“Yeah.” He risked a glance at his dad, then wished he hadn’t. “Please don’t look at me like that,” he whispered. 

There was silence.

“I’ll bring you a blanket,” his dad conceded, finally. 

Stiles nodded. “Okay.”

 

***


	11. The Sycamore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles leans a few things about himself. And about Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize profusely, I posted an un-edited chapter which I have since deleted. If you read it, I suggest you re-read the new posting (Chapter 11), as there are major differences. That teaches me to post when I'm half-asleep. Again, I am sorry. I know how annoying that is. The chapter below is the correct one.

Stiles was holding onto the blanket his dad had given him and staring up at the sycamore’s branches. He’d had an idea and was trying to work out logistics.

The sycamore was old and huge. The branches didn’t start until higher than the roof of their house, where their spread created a platform, wide and big enough to hold someone. Stiles had always wanted to climb up there, but he’d never managed it. What better way to spend his first night, or what was left of it, but up in his mom’s tree? He really needed to feel close to her right now, and the tree was one of the places he’d always had her by his side. 

Stiles placed his hand on the bark. He could feel the tree inside his mind, in his body. He learnt the ways to climb it, hold the bark, position himself like he was part of the tree itself. Placing the blanket over a shoulder, he gripped above his head. His new strength allowed him to move with confidence, and he slowly and wonderfully found himself going up the outside of the tree. He wasn’t even out of breath when he rolled over into the bower. He lay up against the trunk which continued to rise high above his head. The bower created a perfect bed for him.

“Wow,” was all he could say. He laughed at the awesomeness of what he’d done. And it wasn’t just the climbing, although being able to Spider-Man his way up a tree was pretty cool. Being connected to the sycamore was like having a steady, strong, and ancient heart inside him. He was connected to the flow of sap, water, nutrients, and energy. They were all flowing in sync; a perfect dance that allowed the tree to grow.

Stiles rubbed his hand over the tree and smiled for a second, before his smile dropped away. He wasn’t cold but he draped the blanket over himself and curled up underneath it. He’d been surprised when his dad had come back out of the house and handed it to him; a part of him had expected the door to close the first time and not open again. He’d never felt so distant from his dad as he did now. Not even when he’d been possessed. His dad had still fought for him then. Hadn’t turned away from him. Never looked at him like he had tonight.

In his heart of hearts, Stiles had been waiting to loose his dad. It was an ugly stain that had been part of him since his mom got sick. He’d always known he would screw up so badly one day that his dad would stop wanting him around. He’d thought it would be a million things. His ADHD and all the problems it caused. The possession. Donovan. Being involved in the supernatural. Killing his mom, although he was pretty sure his dad didn’t know about that one. But he’d been wrong. Being fae was the deal breaker. Stiles still hoped they could come back from this, but he didn’t know how to fix it. He couldn’t undo what he was, he couldn’t be anything other than fae. Had Scott ever worried that his mom would stop loving him when she first found out he was a werewolf?

The lights were on in his house. Stiles didn’t know if his dad was asleep or not, but given that he had to work in the morning, he hoped he was sleeping. He hated when his dad went to work tired. He needed to be at the top of his game in his profession. It kept him safer, which made Stiles feel less worried that he wasn’t going to come home. He didn’t know how he’d survive without his dad. 

 

***

 

Stiles stayed up in the sycamore all night. He watched the sunlight become stronger as the day began, and the infinitesimal budding of leaves on the tree. If he stayed there long enough he’d witness the leaves cover the whole tree in lush shades of green. The idea was more appealing than it would have been only a day ago. 

The back door of the house opened, and Stiles peeked over the edge of the bower. His dad came out and looked around the yard, carrying a smoothie drink in his hand. “Stiles?” 

Stiles almost called out, but then he thought about how his dad would react to him being up the tree. He sunk lower where he lay.

His dad walked around the yard, periodically calling out for him, for far longer than Stiles thought he would. Eventually, he checked his watch and walked back to the house. He placed the smoothie on the porch table and with one last look around the yard, went back inside. The cruiser left the driveway a minute later. 

When everything was still, Stiles sat up and pushed the blanket off himself. He left it up in the tree and shimmied down the tree trunk, finding the decent even easier than the smooth climb up. He cast a longing look in the direction of the forest then turned towards the house and steeled himself.

He stepped up onto the porch and picked up the smoothie, cradling it before taking a sip, acknowledging that his dad had to feel bad about things if he’d made him breakfast. He stood, drinking slowly, and staring at the trees that bordered the fire break, for an unknown period of time. When the glass was empty, he used the hidden key to open the back door.

Squashing uneasy feelings, he went inside. 

It was immediately oppressing, the walls and ceiling closing around him. The glass dropped from his nerveless fingers and shattered on the floor. He stumbled back against the door, shutting it behind him by accident. The click as the lock fell into place made him start, and he slid down to the floor, folding in on himself.

He spoke out loud, “It’s okay, Stiles. Take it easy. You can do this.”

He repeated the words like a mantra until he was able to rest his head back against the door. His skin was crawling; goosebumps rising along his arms. He rubbed at his skin and grit his teeth.

“Come on, keep going,” he muttered.

He stood up and followed the wall to his left, going into the kitchen. 

Being in the kitchen was worse. The appliances thrummed with contained electricity, prickling at his mind like fingers sifting through sand.

Stiles placed a hand to his forehead as he stumbled away, hitting the table with his hip. He made it into the living room on autopilot, forging ahead, unwilling to leave and fail at something as simple as being inside his own home.

He spied his phone lying on the side table and Derek’s note. He picked both of them up, sticking the note to his pillow and slipping the phone into his jeans pocket, before he pressed his face to his pillow and took a deep breath, centring himself.

Clutching his pillow to his chest, he walked down the hallway.

As Stiles neared his bedroom, he had an idea, a way to focus on something other than how he was feeling. He entered the bathroom and stared at the mirror. His face was human, but Derek had mentioned a different one. Perhaps now would be a good time to see what he looked like as a fae.

Anger was a very good trigger for werewolves, so Stiles lowered his eyes and thought about Deaton.

Hate and anger surged in him, accompanied by the sensation of something flowing and dropping away. He kept his eyes averted from his reflection and looked around the bathroom. Everything was clearer, sharper to his eyes.

He remembered this; the sensation, the clarity. This had happened when Deaton had burned him. And with Lydia.

He flicked his eyes to the mirror and flinched sharply, shocked by the face that stared back. He leant forward and slowly raised a finger to press against his cheek. His bone structure was strange. Pointy was the best way to describe it. His mouth dropped open in surprise, and then he opened it wider at seeing his teeth. Sharpened to points, he had little fangs reminiscent of his fae creator. 

It was his eyes that held the biggest difference. They were glowing like all the supernatural creatures he’d ever seen, but his were reflective fathomless mercury. The look in them was disconcerting, making him seem removed, untouchable, unknowable.

He stood for a while, staring at himself. He supposed he should feel a disassociation to his new face but as dramatic a change as it was, once the shock wore off, he didn't mind it. Derek was right, it was still him. Different, yet the same. 

The issue here was being able to control the change and knowing when he was doing it. Although he had fae instincts now and understood things instinctively which he hadn’t before, this was something that posed a challenge. As he looked into his gray eyes, it struck him that the change he went through was different to the physical morphing that werewolves had. The shift seemed to be more internally focussed for him.

“Glamour,” he breathed out, remembering his research on fae lore. “Used ‘to exact a confusion of the senses’.” 

It meant he essentially revealed or hid his face with magic, unlike a physically change. Every sense including vision and touch would believe the glamour, see and feel what Stiles wanted to show. It was a powerful magic and hinted at the strength now inside him.

The idea of having such magic made him pause. It was one thing to joke with Lydia, quite another to realize he was someone who could do some serious damage to others if he wanted to.

He rubbed a hand over his face, closing his eyes to alleviate the headache he had. He felt the shifting inside him again and when he looked, his face had turned back to the one he knew best.

The headache was steadily throbbing behind his eyes. He turned on the bathroom tap and washed his face. As soon as the water touched him, the build up of pressure lessoned. He splashed more water on his face then wet down the back of his neck.

He picked up his pillow from the floor where he’d dropped it and walked down the hall to his bedroom. The headache was back by the time he reached the doorway. His body was aching, his joints rubbing against each other. He placed his phone on the charger, remembering it had run out of battery. He pulled Derek’s note off his pillow and stuck it on his board.

He rubbed at his forehead. His skin was crawling like there were bugs underneath. He couldn’t stay in the house any longer. 

He walked out of his bedroom, down the hallway, and out the back door.

 

***

 

Stiles didn’t know how long he’d been up in the sycamore. He was listening intently as it talked to the other trees around it. It was seasons mashed together in one long stream of hot, cold, rain, earth, sun, wind, moon. Over and over, until Stiles was coming back to himself to find Derek up in the tree with him. 

He was stroking his fingers over Stiles’ eyebrows. Even after he opened his eyes, Derek didn’t stop, his fingers cool and smooth. He kept going until Stiles tried to sit up, then he placed a hand on his chest and scooted down until he was lying next to him.

“Hey,” Derek said. 

“Hey,” Stiles answered. “What are you doing here?” 

“I needed to make sure you were okay. I tried calling you, but you didn’t pick up.”

Stiles blinked at him. “What are you doing up in my tree?”

“You're up here.”

“Very true.”

“Stiles, are you okay?”

“Sure, sure. So you climbed up here to check on me. That’s gallant of you. Have you spoken to my dad today?” 

Derek squinted a bit. He dropped his hand onto Stiles’ waist. “Not today, no. I called him yesterday when you didn’t answer your phone.”

“That’s because I was in the forest.”

“Again?” 

“What?”

Derek frowned, “You said you were in the forest again.”

“No, I said I was in the forest.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, like Stiles was being obtuse on purpose.

“Derek,” Stiles copied.

“Wait,” Derek said, still frowning, “I think I understand what’s going on here.”

At least one of them did. Stiles had no idea. “Care to enlighten the un-lightened? Un-enlightened? The dimly lit ones? Those of us who are in the dark?”

“You’ve missed a day.”

“Huh?”

“On Friday, you were in the forest.”

“Yeah, yesterday.”

“No, yesterday was Saturday. It’s Sunday, now,” Derek explained.

“Oh.”

Derek smiled softly, “You’re dad’s been a bit worried.”

Stiles looked up at the branches above them, turning onto his back. “He’s probably wanting to have me committed so he can throw away the key.”

Derek’s arm was now resting along Stiles’ stomach, having moved with his turn. “He’s not that bad. He’s worried about you, that’s all.”

“Hmmm.” Stiles was unconvinced. “I’ve spent a whole day and night up here without knowing it. When he asks me what I’ve been doing, he’s going to look at me like he did before.” Stiles pressed himself down against the tree. “I’ll stay up here.”

“How did things go on Friday night?” Derek asked.

“Absolutely fine. I found out how much my dad dislikes what I’ve become. It was a wonderful experience. Really therapeutic.” 

Derek tightened his arm around Stiles. The warmth was covering him almost completely. A blanket of concern-worry.

“I’m fine, Derek.”

“No, you’re really not.”

Derek’s soft concern made Stiles tear up. One trickled down his cheek. “No. I’m really not,” he choked out.

Derek pulled him even more solidly along his side, burying his nose in Stiles’ neck. Stiles could feel him breathing.

“Does dad know I’m up here?”

Derek’s answer was muffled by Stiles’ hair. “Yeah. He wanted me to check you were still in the yard yesterday afternoon. When I found you and told him you were up here, he said to give you space.”

“He did?”

“He’s trying, Stiles.”

Stiles changed the subject. “Derek, what do you do?”

Derek pulled away from his neck and Stiles lamented the move. 

“What do I do?” Derek reiterated.

“Yeah. I’ve been totally focused on myself. I have no idea what everyone is doing when they’re not wrapped up in my latest crisis.”

“No one would blame you for being preoccupied, Stiles. You have gone through some pretty hectic stuff lately.”

“No, no, no, that’s the problem! You guys have got to help me out here. So just tell me, what do you do? I’m also asking because it’s pretty crappy of me not to know. I should know everything about you.”

Derek looked amused, “Everything?”

Stiles mentally prepared himself to be rebuffed. “Yes. Everything. I would like to know everything there is to know about you.”

He was bound to be giving off all kinds of scent markers right now; aroused, excited, scared, worried. He fully expected Derek to have issue with some of it. He swallowed, biting his lips, wondering why he was being so daring.

Derek tracked the movement and he breathed in, his eyes growing darker as Stiles watched.

If he moved slightly, he could touch his mouth to Derek’s. He could trace his lips with his tongue and find out how he tasted. He wanted to. God, how he wanted to. He looked away so he wasn’t as tempted. “Umm, so what do you do?”

Derek was looking at him like he could see all of his innermost thoughts. He took his time before he said, “I don’t actually have a job right now, you know my parents had money.”

“I know of Peter’s money,” Stiles corrected. He hadn’t wanted to assume that all the Hales were rolling in dough.

“Cora and I are the only beneficiaries of our parents’ holdings. The inheritance allows me time to work out who I am.”

“Have you worked that out? Do you know?” Stiles couldn’t help the light teasing. “Who is Derek Hale?”

Derek smile had a bit of teeth behind it. “I’m getting there.”

Stiles chuckled slightly. “So what do you do whenever you’re not here?”

“I run.”

The simple answer had many images flashing through Stiles’ brain. Some were PG rated. Some were verging on the more pornographic side of things. Then he thought further.

“Run, as in a wolf?”

He’d only seen Derek as a wolf once. He could only imagine the full beauty and freedom of running through the preserve as one.

“Yeah.” Derek was shifting a little, as if embarrassed.

“Wow. That’s, wow.” Stiles was being completely honest. He wanted to see Derek like that.

Derek was surprised by his answer. “You’re okay with it? Most people wouldn’t be.”

“I don’t care what other people think,” Stiles told him firmly. He wanted Derek to trust him with everything. “Can I come with you some time? I’d like to share that with you.” 

Derek gave his soft smile. “Yeah. I’d like that.” 

“Where do you live?” Stiles asked.

Derek was still smiling as he raised his eyebrows. “I have a house on Hale land.”

“Not the Hale House, though.”

“No. That one and the land around it were taken by Beacon Hills County.”

“Yeah, I remember. So what Hale land?” Stiles hadn’t known there were other places. Although it made sense if the Hales were as rich as he now thought they were.

“When I first came back I came across this house. Honestly, I’d forgotten it. It’s further away from the town than the old house, just outside of the preserve lines, but still within the forest itself. When I had time, I checked the land ownership. I just assumed it had all been taken. But this one was Peter’s.”

“It’s Peter’s?”

“No. The last time he was here he’d been mucking around with lawyer stuff. I’d just as soon not know what he was up to so I didn’t pay much attention.”

“What was he doing? Apart from planning world domination?”

Derek chuckled. “He put the house and the land into my name.”

Stiles’ mouth dropped open. “He gave you a house?” He may have squeaked a bit on the last word. The idea of Peter doing something that could be considered nice was strange. And very wrong.

“No. I’m sure he was using me as a fail-safe for some reason. He didn’t even tell me. But now it means I own the house and some land around it, so the joke’s on him. I checked it all out. That’s one of the other things I’ve been doing.”

Stiles grinned. “When you’re not running around being all wolfy.” 

“Yes. When I’m not being all wolfy.”

“Wait, please tell me this house is not in the same falling-down condition as your old one.” 

Derek didn’t say anything.

“You’re not living in another derelict building, are you, Derek?”

“It’s not as bad,” Derek admitted. 

Stiles sighed. Derek’s choice of living arrangements was historically poor. “You’ll need to get it fixed up. When can I see it?”

“You can see it soon.” Derek’s voice dropped. He ran his hand down Stiles’ hip and left it resting on the top of his thigh. 

Stiles’ breathing hitched a little. When Derek placed his hand on his waist, it was like a hug. Where it was now was more like a promise, a hot brand linked directly to his dick. He memorized each finger placement and the heavy weight of Derek’s palm.

Derek sat up, his hand falling off Stiles’ thigh. He swung his legs over the side of the bower. “Do you want to come down?”

Stiles followed him, sitting up. He wanted to touch where Derek’s hand had been, but refrained. “Is Dad home?” he asked. 

“I’m not sure. I can check.” 

Derek went to jump down, but Stiles caught him on the shoulder. “Did you come straight up here when you arrived?”

“Maybe.” Derek flashed a small cheeky grin.

Stiles put his other hand over his heart. “Awww, Derek,” he teased.

Derek snorted, then jumped. “Are you coming down?” he called from below.

“Do I need to go in the house?” Stiles didn’t jump, but quickly shimmied his way down the trunk of the tree. When he touched the ground he found Derek watching him with a surprised expression. He shrugged. “I’m having trouble with the whole ‘human habitation’ thing.”

Derek glanced back up the tree. “Is it being near to humans that’s the hardest bit or the house itself?”

Stiles shook his head in bemusement, smiling.

“What?” Derek asked.

“You get it. You understand.” Stiles couldn’t express what that meant to him. 

Derek nodded. “I’ve lived my whole life in the world you’ve just joined.”

Stiles tilted his head and thought about it. That wasn’t all of it. “It’s more than that.”

Derek turned away from his scrutiny. “Yes.” 

Stiles put that information aside for later. “I managed to go in for a little while before it became too much. The kitchen was the worst.”

Derek thought for a second. “Electronics?” 

Stiles nodded as they started walking towards the house. 

“Shouldn’t a thing like electricity be fine for you?”

“Yeah, you’d think. But it’s contained, so it feels wrong.”

He stopped walking, attention riveted on the back door, unease spooling inside him. He curled his toes into the grass under his feet.

“You can get to your room, right?” Derek asked him. “And your dad’s not home.”

Stiles took a step, placing his foot onto the porch. He started to breathe deeper. He stepped back and then took a few more steps to distance himself. “This is completely crazy, you know that right? I should have accepted the bite, then I’d be able to live in my own god damn home!” Stiles flung out his hand, gesturing to his house.

Derek said, flatly, “You never wanted to be a werewolf, Stiles.”

There was no point in lying about it. “No,” Stiles agreed.

“You wouldn’t have enjoyed being one.”

“Why not?”

Derek shrugged. “Being fae is obviously who you’re meant to be.”

“You mean like fate or something?” Stiles frowned.

“Maybe. In two weeks you’ve come such a long way.” 

Stiles shook his head, “No, I haven’t.”

“You can’t see it, Stiles. There’s lots of things you can’t see right now. But trust me, you’re coping better than you think. Some bitten wolves take months to come to terms with everything. With you it looks so easy. So natural.”

Stiles started laughing. “You think this is easy?”

“Not this part,” Derek agreed. “There are still times when being around human people is tough for me.”

“Human people? I thought your attitude was because of, um,” Stiles trailed off, not sure how to word it.

“The fire? Some. But a lot is the fact that wolves don’t really like being around humans.”

“They don’t?”

That was news to Stiles. Scott had never acted like that was an issue.

Derek smiled like he’d guessed what Stiles was thinking again. “Scott is strange in that. There are others like him, but don’t look to him to show you how wolves operate normally.” He folded his arms across his chest. “There were many reasons our house was situated in the forest. It wasn’t just to keep our secret. It was also because it was away from humans. Most packs live out in the wild. Some don’t even have buildings as homes. Not as you’d recognise them, anyway.”

“I had no idea.” Stiles was hit by a thought that created a nasty unwelcome feeling in his stomach. “I must have annoyed you so much. Not just because I was me, but because I was so very human.”

“No.” Derek’s answer was adamant.

“No?” Stiles was slightly incredulous. “You can’t tell me that Stiles Stilinski in all his humanity did not get you all growly. I distinctly remember meeting many walls.”

“I’m sorry about that. I shouldn’t have done it. But it wasn’t,” Derek stopped and let out a huff of air. He unfolded his arms. “Normally, yes, you being human would have been the cause of a lot of my annoyance.”

Stiles tried to lighten the mood, sensing Derek wasn’t impressed with himself for what he’d done. “Are you saying it was just my bubbling personality that did it? Dude. Way harsh.” He gave Derek a little smile and nudged him.

“No!” Derek said forcefully, but he smiled back. “Actually, it was because you reminded me so much of my family.”

“I, what now?”

“You had this thing, this way about you. Caring too much. Doing too much. Putting yourself at risk for those you love. It drove me nuts, because my family did that. They protected, they cared, they fought for and loved each other. For me. We all did. To have you reminding me of what I’d lost was sometimes too much.”

Stiles shuffled a bit, wrapping his arm around Derek’s waist. Derek had been doing it in the tree, so he could reciprocate. “I don’t still do that, do I?”

“I admire all of those qualities in you, Stiles, very much. I like being around you.” Derek tipped his head until it rested against Stiles’ own.

Stiles felt oddly shy. “Me, too. I like being around you, too.”

Derek motioned back to the house. “Did you want to try again?” 

Stiles was sure he didn’t. 

“Does this help?” Derek caught up his hand. 

Stiles thought about it. If he wanted to, he could allow the warmth from the touch to help settle him. He could feel it there, just under the surface, waiting for him to acknowledge it.

“How do you do it?” he asked Derek instead. “You say wolves are naturally inclined to stay away from humans, so how do you do it?”

Derek tugged on his hand gently, and Stiles followed him. “I’ve had practice. Lots of it. Sometimes it’s still too much. Having somewhere to live that’s away from people helps.”

Stiles stepped up onto the porch. “Maybe that’s what I need,” he mused.

Derek looked at him speculatively. “Maybe.” 

After Derek opened the back door, Stiles let himself be tugged down the hallway, doing his best to ignore the discomfort he felt. When they got to his bedroom, he was trembling a bit. Derek kept a firm grip on his hand until he’d nudged the door shut with his foot. He settled Stiles on the bed then opened both windows before sitting beside him.

“What helped you the first time you tried this?” Derek asked.

“Thinking about something else,” Stiles replied.

“Turn around,” Derek urged. When Stiles only looked at him, he pushed him to sit sideways on the bed, facing away from him. 

“What are you doing?”

Derek placed his hands on his shoulders. “I’m helping to ground you. It’s something my mom used to do. You need to focus on my hands and your breathing. As I move them down your back, you direct your breath.”

“How does this work?” Stiles asked. The idea of Derek’s hands on him sent tingles up his spine.

“It makes you focus and breath with all of your lungs. First position.” Derek’s hands were heavy on his shoulder blades. “Breath into my touch,” he directed.

“How do I breathe into my shoulders?” Stiles complained.

“Just do it.”

Stiles tried to breathe like Derek said, at first just wanting to laugh at how strange it was. Then, his attention was drawn to the weight of Derek’s hands, his fingers pressing down each time they moved. Stiles started to relax, his breathing opening up, filling his lungs. Derek’s hands slowly traveled down his spine. As he relaxed, the more the warmth from Derek’s hands soaked into him. It was a soothing mix of comfort and Derek’s determination to do this right. 

“Again, Stiles, breathe deep,” Derek said quietly, as he moved his hands down further. They were now resting at the base of his spine. “I’m going to go back up, do you mind?” Derek placed his fingers under Stiles’ shirt.

Stiles managed to keep his breathing even as he said, “Go ahead.”

Derek’s hands smoothed over his skin and pressed into his lower back. “Breathe into my hands, Stiles,” he reminded him.

Stiles’ mouth was suddenly very dry, so he nodded and did as he was told.

“Good.” Derek shifted closer, rucking up Stiles’ shirt as his hands traveled up again. His fingers wrapped around Stiles’ sides, hot brands along his ribs. “Keep directing your breath,” Derek murmured.

Stiles tried not to do anything other than breathe. He was finding it increasingly difficult. His dick was taking an interest in things, so he moved his leg and his hand to cover up his arousal. It did nothing for his scent, but he could only do so much.

Derek had gone very quiet behind him. A quiet, “Fuck,” was breathed out against his back before hands were sliding around his middle, heated slides of fire that Stiles wanted to melt into. His head tipped back, and Derek was there, his front pressed up against him, his face in Stiles’ neck.

Stiles exhaled shakily and slowly reached up, placing his hand in Derek’s hair and running his fingers through the strands. Derek’s hands pressed into his stomach, pulling him closer. Derek’s mouth was lying against the tendon in his neck and Stiles imagined him kissing him there. 

Suddenly, he was alone on the bed and Derek was standing near the door. Stiles tipped backwards slightly before he caught himself. He blinked and came out of his stupor as Derek stared at him with hooded eyes that burned. 

Neither of them spoke for the longest time, until Derek said so quietly that Stiles almost missed it, “I should probably go.”

“No,” Stiles told him. “I’m going outside anyway. Come with me.” Now that Derek wasn’t touching him, he was noticing every part of himself that rebelled against being inside.

Derek seemed to be considering something, before he nodded. “Okay,” he agreed. 

On the walk outside, Stiles was very aware of every move Derek made. When he brushed up against him he felt electrified. They climbed up the sycamore and had a moment of indecision, before Derek pulled Stiles to lie down with him.

“You need to rest,” he explained.

Stiles went to complain, but a yawn caught him by surprise. “Why am I tired? This should be over.”

“You’re not fully well.” Derek placed the blanket over him, even going so far as to tuck it around him which caused Stiles to look at him incredulously.

“But I’m healthy again. All fine.”

Derek was slow to answer. “Physically maybe. But there’s more to you than just your body, Stiles. Your mind is still dealing with things.”

Stiles patted Derek’s arm. “I’m fine.” 

“You’re not,” Derek said. “But it’s okay. You’ll get there.”

 

***

 

It had been four days since Derek had lay with Stiles up in the sycamore’s branches. During that time, Stiles had managed to enter his house a grand total of three times. It helped if Derek was with him, but in the end Stiles couldn’t stay for more than half an hour before the need to be outside became too much.

He’d been trying to talk to his dad too, but every time had been distinctly uncomfortable.

They’d had a few meals on the porch, but the weirdness of not being able to go inside was wearing on them both. Their conversations were stilted and Derek mediated them, because when he wasn’t there Stiles fled up into the branches of his tree. He was acutely aware that his dad thought him a freak and it hurt to be around him. His dad was helping with that by staying later at the station to work overtime, effectively taking himself away from home and, consequently, his non-human son. 

Stiles had also worked out what was wrong with his phone. It was him.

Scott had come over during Easter Break, annoyed with Stiles about his inability to text or call him. Stiles had shown Scott his phone still wasn’t working, only for Scott to turn it on like nothing was wrong. Stiles had taken it back, to have it shut down again as soon as he touched it. They’d done it a few more times, playing pass the parcel, with the exact same results. A bit of internet research from Scott and they found out that fae, or any type of fairy or sprite, had trouble with technology. Stiles hadn’t been impressed.

Iron was still an issue for him too. That morning he’d tried to get to his jeep but couldn’t do it. It hurt to be too close. He could feel his body reacting to the steel and he’d given up pretty quickly. He had no idea how he’d managed to get in his dad’s cruiser.

And then there were the dreams. He couldn’t recall them, only that they were important and made him think there was something he was supposed to be doing. There’d been a dream-like quality to his day today, everything slightly fuzzy around the edges like he hadn’t been truly there, and as the evening progressed it was getting worse.

He was sitting on the grass under his tree, jerking awake every few minutes. Sleep would not help him feel any better, the dreams had put a stop to that. He wanted Derek with him right now, he would be able to make sense of things in a way Stiles found he couldn’t anymore. He imagined Derek sitting with him, placing a supportive arm around his shoulder and making him feel like everything was going to be fine.

 

***

 

The Nemeton was calling him. Its beating pulse of energy was stretching out through the preserve, through the aspen forest, into the roots of the sycamore tree, and up into Stiles. This was the cause of his stress-filled dreams. He reached out to the Tree on instinct.

He was in his spirit form at the Nemeton’s grove. The air around him was thrumming like crazy, the sky a pale yellow. He leant over and touched the Tree and energy surged through him. He brushed aside the darker more ugly parts of left-over magic and welcomed the clean, bright pieces that resonated with the Nemeton’s old glory. There were feelings, sensations, experiences flowing through him so quickly he couldn’t hold onto any one piece of information. They sunk down into him and stayed there, filling him up. 

Understanding came slowly but when it did, it wasn’t going anywhere. His connection to the Tree was finally explained. Started with a sacrifice to save his dad, he had unwittingly allowed the Tree to choose him. Inside him from then on, the Tree’s mark did its job and helped his fae creator to find him and change him irrevocably. And now he was ready. Now he understood what the Tree needed from him. 

He just had no idea how to make it happen. 

 

***

 

Stiles’ head pounded like he’d mashed up the insides and dribbled them back in through his ears.

“Stiles?” Derek’s concerned face stared at him. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Stiles blinked at the leaves behind Derek’s face, wondering when he’d climbed up into the sycamore’s branches but not being able to recall doing so, then focussed back on him. “I’m fine,” he answered.

Derek had his hand on Stiles’ shoulder and worry-concern was coming from him in a sluggish wave.

“I’m alright,” Stiles reiterated, as Derek’s frown intensified.

Derek narrowed his eyes at him, not believing his words. “I couldn’t wake you up. I’ve been trying for the past two hours. Was it the astral projecting again?”

Stiles hummed in agreement, closing his eyes again, not wanting to explain what had triggered it this time.

Derek sighed in exasperation. “I don’t think you realise how dangerous it is,” he began.

“It is not,” Stiles scoffed, eyes still closed. He was listening to the breeze rustle the leaves around his bower. The air felt wonderfully alive and playful as it brushed his skin.

“Stiles, your heartbeat was too slow to be safe.”

“Pfft,” Stiles waved a hand and sat up, opening his eyes as he did so. “That’s a human heartbeat you’re thinking of. How do you know what a fae’s heart can take?” He wriggled around to sit beside Derek.

“I don’t want to find out.” Derek wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close.

Stiles leant heavily against him, wanting to just stay like this for a while longer before reality set in. He closed his eyes again and turned in Derek’s embrace until he could rest his forehead against Derek’s neck and just breathe him in. He only moved away when he caught himself on the verge of kissing up Derek’s neck like it was a thing they did. It was getting harder and harder to remember where the lines were that he didn’t cross.

“You didn’t tell my dad?” he asked, trying for diversion. 

Derek snorted, “No.”

“Thank you,” Stiles said in all sincerity. His rested his head on Derek’s shoulder again. “You’re the one who always helps me, Derek. I know I’m not easy to care for and I don’t want you thinking I don’t notice, or that I don’t care. Or that I’m not thankful for it because I do, and I am.”

Derek said nothing, to a casual observer seemingly unmoved by this confession. But Stiles wasn’t a casual anything where Derek was concerned. A burst of happy-trust-contentment-love-connection washed over him, causing him to blink and shudder. “Woah,” he muttered.

Derek’s arms tightened around him, “Stiles? You okay?”

Stiles gave a little laugh. “See? Always the most awesome person. At some point, you’ve got to let me take care of you, too.” He wanted that so badly; a chance to care for Derek.

“You’ve always taken care of me, even when I gave you no reason to do so.” Derek sighed, “We’re friends, right?”

He sounded resigned, but Stiles didn’t know why. He nodded anyway.

Derek continued, “This is what friends do. We care for each other. Now, are you alright?”

Stiles nodded again. “Yeah, just, sometimes being able to feel people’s emotions can be a bit much, you know?”

Derek pulled back from him, frowning. “You can feel people’s emotions?”

Stiles blinked. He’d forgotten he hadn’t told Derek. He’d been stalling for a very good reason. He couldn’t take it if the knowledge made Derek turn away from him.

“When did this start?” Derek asked.

Stiles screwed up his face. “With Lydia in the study.”

“You worried about it? Seems uncomfortably familiar,” Derek said cautiously.

Stiles shrugged, “Yes and no. Lydia says it doesn’t hurt.”

“Do you do it to me?”

“Uh, sure, sometimes,” Stiles stammered. “I can totally stop if you want me to! I’m not like the Nogitsune, I won’t hurt you —” He was so worried he would, his heart hammered in his chest.

“Calm down, I don’t think that at all. Is that what you think?”

Stiles turned his head away, “Not all the time, no.” That was an outright lie. He hoped Derek would think his heart skipping was caused by anxiety.

“Well, that’s a start,” Derek conceded. “What does it feel like?”

“Um.” This could get embarrassing if he wasn’t careful. “It’s like a huge surge of warmth and depending on if it’s you or Scott or someone else, I receive different things.”

“What’s it feel like with Scott?” 

“Mostly I feel warmth, comfort, and family.” There, nice and simple.

“What does it feel like with me?” 

Crap. Crap. Crap. Stiles’ heart must be telling Derek something by now. He licked his lips. “It feels good. Like I’m safe,” he mumbled. 

Derek was staring at Stiles and frowning like he wanted his eyebrows to become one long line. He held Stiles’ jaw gently and leant into his personal space. “What does it feel like with me, Stiles?”

Stiles may have whimpered. His mouth went dry. “Derek.”

“Close your eyes if it makes it easier, and tell me.” 

Stiles closed his eyes, because how could he not? He could feel the warmth. It was strong on his jaw and a heavy weight against his neck where Derek’s arm held him closer. He licked his lips and took a deep breath. This had all sorts of trouble written all over it.

“Stiles?”

“Warm. I feel warm. It spreads out from where you’re touching me.” He let the feelings wash over him. “I feel calm, I feel good. It’s good. It makes me want to …” He couldn’t finish that sentence without damning himself.

“Stiles,” Derek whispered. 

Stiles had to squeeze his eyes to keep them shut. “God. It makes me want to have you touch me more. For me to touch you.” He could feel the pull towards Derek like he was being reeled in. “It feels like home to me. Like comfort and protection and just so right, and love. It feels like love.” Stiles wasn’t even really aware of what he was saying anymore, he was caught up in the feeling. “I want it to stay forever, it feels so good. I want to make you feel like that. I want you to feel that from me.”

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice cracked, and Stiles had to open his eyes. They were only inches apart. He was panting a little and his mouth was wet.

Stiles pulled back quickly. “I’m so sorry, Derek. I’m sorry.” He didn’t know where to go or what to do.

Derek dropped the hand which had been holding onto Stiles’ jaw. He looked lost, desperate. His arm slid from around Stiles’ shoulders.

Stiles swung his legs over the branch and almost fell down the tree in his haste to give Derek space. He walked quickly away from the sycamore, berating himself for being the most stupid person who ever did anything stupid. He ended up sitting on the ground at the back of the yard, staring past the firebreak into the aspen forest. He could feel the forest pulling on him but he ignored it.

Stiles had known he was going to do it. He’d stuffed up. He’d warned Lydia he would. Why did Derek have to push him like that? He could feel a phantom echo of Derek’s hands on him. This had blindsided him. He’d had no idea their conversation was going to go in this direction. 

A tear slipped out of his eye to run down his chin. He didn’t realise he’d closed them, until a shadow on his face had him squinting up. 

Derek stood over him. Stiles went to stand, but Derek sat down next to him and put out a hand.

“Stay. It may be easier for me to talk to you if you’re not planning on running.”

Stiles didn’t tell him that he was still considering it, and sitting on the ground wasn’t going to slow him down.

“I was going to wait until you were more ready than this, but maybe you need to hear it now.”

Derek slowly reached over and took Stiles’ hand. He held it carefully, like Stiles might break. Stiles wasn’t sure he wouldn’t.

Derek edged closer, like he couldn’t stay away.

“I came back to find you because of who you are to me, Stiles. I feel all of those things you said. I feel them just by being near you.”

Stiles looked at him, “Derek, don’t.” He couldn’t take hearing this. It was everything he wanted and Derek was going to take it all away.

“Stiles, don’t push me away.” Derek leaned closer. 

Stiles edged back, meaning to sit further away, but somehow he ended up underneath Derek, lying back on the ground. He hadn’t made the conscious decision to do it, but he couldn’t move other than to bare his neck. If Derek was going to break his heart he should continue and break all of him.

Derek’s eyes were switching from green to glowing blue and back again, very aware of what Stiles’ actions meant. He was infinitely gentle as his hand came up and lay on Stiles’ throat, his thumb rubbing along the pulse point. He didn’t move more than that.

“Feel me, Stiles?” he asked.

Stiles clamped down on his magic, not allowing any part of him to reach out.

“Please,” Derek whispered into his ear as he bent over him.

Stiles’ magic couldn’t deny that plea and rose up, clasping onto the warmth the surged through his throat. Stiles gasped as love-love-love-comfort-wanting-need-love-love ran into him. He couldn’t comprehend such depth of feeling directed at him, but was held in sway.

Derek slipped his hand under the edge of his shirt and Stiles moaned when he splayed his hand out. Stiles tipped his head back further and stared up at the sky. The warmth was spreading from his stomach into his chest, and down into his groin and legs. 

It was a completely surreal experience and Stiles only just made out that Derek was talking. He’d put his mouth down near Stiles’ ear again. “What you sense when I touch you is what I feel for you.”

Stiles shook his head slightly. This whole situation didn’t add up. 

“You’re in such strong denial and I know it’s a coping technique, that you’re not ready for anything more. But it’s so hard for me not to go further, especially when your every move says you want me to.” Derek moved his hand up under the shirt, and rested it on Stiles’ heart. 

Stiles’ heart tried to get closer by trying to jump itself out of his chest. He arched up because he couldn’t do anything else. He was swimming in a sea of Derek and trembling like he was about to fall apart. Derek swayed above him, coming closer. There was a split second where Stiles thought Derek was going to kiss him and his heart stuttered in shock.

As quick as the wind, Derek removed his hand and sat beside him.

Stiles took a shaky breath and placed his own hand on his chest, trying to keep Derek’s warmth on his skin. He could feel his heart beating rapidly under his palm. He looked over at Derek who was watching him reservedly. He sat up slowly. 

“I had no intention of staying in Beacon Hills because I thought my feelings for you would cause nothing but pain,” Derek admitted. “Then Scott told me something that gave me hope. So I stayed.”

“What did he tell you?” By some miracle, Stiles voice was steady as he asked.

“That you felt the same way. He told me I should give it time so we could get to know each other again.” Derek shrugged. “Scott said he didn’t even know if you were aware of it.”

Stiles’ jaw clicked as he forced himself to say, “I know it. I know how I feel.” He may be feeling a whole lot of conflicting things at any one time, but he knew that for sure at least.

He couldn’t really understand what was happening here. Raising one leg, Stiles leant his head against it. He wasn’t physically tired, but his brain ached like it had run a marathon. He focused on the sunlight and let it soak into him, willing it to fix all the broken pieces. He ran one hand across the grass and twisted his fingers into the soil. He couldn’t feel the earth in the same way he could the trees. There was a sleepy, ancient power down there. He was a bit scared to touch it, because it was huge and all-encompassing. 

Derek sat quietly near him while he rested. Stiles appreciated him doing that. He was always waiting on Stiles but he never complained. 

When he was more clear headed he said, “I didn’t tell you before, I killed my phone.” The fact didn’t worry him anymore. It was what it was. 

Derek sighed softly. Then he asked, “How’d you do that?” He sounded wistful, but his face gave nothing away.

“Fae have a problem with technology. It doesn’t work for us. It’s not actually dead, but for me it may as well be until I can control the reaction.” Stiles stood up and stretched his arms above his head. He felt sore and swung his arms around, loosening them up.

“That makes it difficult to keep in contact with you,” Derek pointed out, standing too.

“Yeah, but if you just stay, you’ll always be here and you won’t have to worry about it!” Stiles joked. He turned back to the house and Derek walked with him.

“I want to try to go inside again,” he blurted out. He had a feeling he could do it this time and stay longer.

“Are you sure?” Derek asked, concerned.

They stopped at the back porch. Stiles was in control. He wasn’t worried. “Something’s different. I can do this. I’ll be okay.”

“I know you will be,” Derek agreed, although it sounded like he was referring to something else.

Stiles stepped up onto the porch, concentrating on the back door. He walked over to it and turned the handle. The door opened so his dad must have left it unlocked for him.

Something that had been tight in his chest, loosened up. 

He stepped into the back entranceway, Derek close behind him. Stiles was relieved when he didn’t immediately want to leave. There was the uncomfortable sensation of being inside, but it wasn’t a big concern so he ignored it and walked into the kitchen. The contained electricity was rumbling in every appliance, but it wasn’t overloading him.

“All good,” he said and walked into the living room. “It feels okay. I don’t know how long this will last, but it’s better than nothing, right?” he asked Derek as he turned towards him.

Derek was smiling. “Better than nothing.”

 

***


	12. The Pretending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has the best of intentions.

To say that Stiles’ dad was happy when he found him in the house was an understatement. He walked in the door from grocery shopping and promptly dropped the bags on the floor. “Stiles?”

“Yeah, Dad. I can come in the house now. Everything’s going to be fine.” Stiles held his hands out placatingly.

His dad stepped over the bags of food and pulled him into the roughest hug they’d had in a long time. He then held him at arms length, looking him over. “How? Where? I don’t care. Come here.” He was pulled into another hug. 

Derek stood up from the couch. “Noah, Stiles is doing a lot better it’s true, but —”

“I can see that,” his dad interrupted, all smiles.

“Dad, I’m doing better,” Stiles began.

“Like I said, I can see that. So you got it all worked out? Everything’s fixed?” His dad went back to collect his dropped groceries.

Derek and Stiles traded confused looks. 

“Um, Dad?”

“You can stay for dinner, right, Derek?” his dad asked over his shoulder. 

“Sure, I guess?” Derek shrugged at Stiles behind his dad’s back. 

Stiles gave Derek a ‘What the hell?’ gesture, as his dad walked into the kitchen. Derek gave a slight shake of his head in return, just as nonplused, and followed Stiles into the kitchen where his dad was putting things into the fridge.

Stiles noticed the food he’d already put on the table. “Woah, woah, woah! What is this?” 

He held up a box of frozen pizza with extra cheese and three kinds of processed meat and stared accusingly at his dad. His dad had the grace to look a bit guilty but was also trying not to smile.

Stiles shook the box a little, demanding an explanation.

“It’s dinner.”

“No, this is a heart attack with thick crust! Just because I said we’d revisit your diet doesn’t mean you get to ignore healthy eating choices!”

His dad genuinely smiled, then sat down at the kitchen table and waved a hand at his son, “And what, master chef, are we having, if not pizza?” 

He looked so frighteningly comfortable and happy, that Stiles took a mental step back to figure out what was going on.

Unaware of Stiles’ confusion, his dad continued, “What would you like for dinner, Derek?” While he waited for an answer he went back to pulling items out of bags.

Derek cast Stiles a quick look, silently pleading for help.

Stiles just waved a hand absentmindedly, still thinking.

Derek gave him a dark look in return, then glanced at what was on the table. “Pasta? With meat sauce? And salad?”

Stiles’ dad groaned out, “Salad! Derek!” but he got up to put the rest of the food away, his smile bigger than before. He went out to the car to bring in what he’d forgotten. 

Stiles used his absence to lean up against the counter. He was a little woozy.

Derek asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. It’s a bit much in here, that’s all.” He’d already been in the house for a few hours before his dad got home. Being in the kitchen was edging his tolerance into the red zone. “I need to sit down,” he admitted.

Derek put his arm around him, drawing him into his side. Stiles leant gratefully against him. Derek put his hand on the back of his neck and started a gentle rubbing motion up into his hair that Stiles appreciated in every nerve of his body.

“God, that’s good,” he couldn’t help but moan as the churning inside him stilled and turned into a much more interesting feeling, if not less intense. His hands gripped Derek’s hips of their own volition. 

Derek chuckled, looking at him fondly, and kissed him on the forehead, letting his lips rest there when Stiles tipped his head forward.

Stiles wasn’t sure what he was about to do, probably something stupid again. He was beginning to think a lot more with his dick than he should around Derek and he just couldn’t seem to stop. At the moment, it was telling him to kiss that beautiful mouth and possibly grab his ass which was only a hand-slide away.

Stiles’ dad came back to the kitchen and cast a glance at the two of them, at the space that wasn’t there between them. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing and placed the last bags on the table. 

Stiles coughed into the back of his hand as he moved away from Derek. He was in an awkward position of having to hide his hard-on from the two people in the world he didn’t want knowing he had one. And the one with the super-wolf sniffer probably already knew anyway. His face heated up and he was very aware he must be as red as the tomatoes his dad was putting in the fridge. 

“I’ll make dinner for everyone, Noah,” Derek offered, turning away from Stiles.

With his dad still in the fridge and Derek handing him items, Stiles had the perfect opportunity to sidle over to the doorway, intent on a quick escape. 

“No, you can’t do that,” his dad protested, but his pleased tone implied he was already on board with the idea.

“Sure, I can. Stiles is going to go have a shower anyway, aren’t you.” Derek looked over at him.

Stiles paused in stepping out of the kitchen, then nodded. Getting out of the kitchen was ideal. A shower was even better. He decided to believe Derek had suggested it because of his issues with being inside, and not because of anything else.

 

***

 

When Stiles came back to the kitchen, having taken his time showering, dinner was almost ready and Derek was in the dining room. Stiles and his dad didn’t really use the room. They just ate in the kitchen or in front of the TV.

“We haven’t eaten a meal in here since Mom,” Stiles mentioned, as Derek put out three settings around the table. “Where did you find the placemats?”

Derek answered, “They were in there,” and pointed to the dining hutch. 

“Huh.”

Derek finished setting the table and walked over to Stiles. He hesitated before touching him on the elbow. “How are you going?”

“Better,” Stiles nodded. The water from his shower had helped a lot.

Derek had an uncertain frown as he reached out slowly and ran a hand through Stiles’ hair. “You’re looking better.”

Stiles sighed and closed his eyes. Derek’s fingers caught in the strands of his hair and a pleasant shiver travelled down his spine. There was a dry cough from behind him. He turned around and Derek dropped his hand.

Stiles’ dad said, “Need some help bringing dinner in. Unless you two aren’t hungry.”

Derek said, “I’ll do it. Take a seat, Stiles.”

Being left in the dining room on his own, Stiles sat down and tapped his fingers on the table, coming to a quick decision.

It was obvious his dad needed some normal in his life. Asking if everything was fixed made sense if viewed in that context. Being pulled into the supernatural didn’t leave a lot of room for normal.

If it helped them, helped his dad, Stiles could do it. He could give his dad that. 

Shortly, both Derek and his dad came back, with Derek carrying the meat sauce and the salad.

“Good idea,” Stiles nodded. “Let Dad carry the salad and it would end up on the floor due to a completely accidental accident.”

Stiles grabbed the salad as soon as Derek put it down. He didn’t want the pasta or meat sauce and hoped his dad wouldn’t remark on it.

Actually, even though he hadn’t eaten very well for the past few days, he wasn’t really all that hungry. It could be a fae thing. He was never as hungry as a fae as he’d been when human. He still liked food, but eating wasn’t a priority. In fact, it was easy to forget to do it at all and skipping meals didn’t seem to affect him. Maybe he was like a plant, photosynthesizing sunlight. He did get an energy boost every time after all.

Dinner went smoothly and Stiles cleaned up while his dad went to watch TV. He’d invited Derek to join him and Stiles had to smile. They enjoyed each other’s company and he approved.

While washing up, Stiles made sure not to touch the sink more than he needed to but wasn’t really paying attention. Instead, he gazed out the kitchen window towards his tree which was visible because of the porch light. It took him a few seconds to comprehend someone must have tripped the sensor to turn the light on. He assumed it was the neighbors’ cat who liked to use their yard as a toilet, so he went out the back to shoo it away, but when he looked there wasn’t anything there.

Standing outside, Stiles wasn’t in any rush to go back to the kitchen. The night wind blew through the trees and he took a few slow calming breaths as he listened to the gentle rustling.

Eventually he went back inside and walked down the hallway to his bedroom. He was opening the windows when Derek came in, shut the door behind himself and leant against it, folding his arms.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Stiles bit at his bottom lip.

“Stiles, your dad’s under a serious misconception and you didn’t explain what’s really going on.”

“Why bother? He wants normal.” Stiles said.

Derek’s frown intensified. “You mean human.” He stepped closer to Stiles. “Do you think it would be better for the two of you to pretend?”

“Maybe.” Stiles didn’t want to feel bad about this decision, but it was hard not to when Derek disapproved. He tried to explain, “He wants things to be fixed. I can pretend for him.”

“For how long?” Derek pushed.

Stiles glanced away. “Long enough.”

“It’s going to end badly.”

Stiles shrugged. He was doing the right thing by his dad. “It was nice, you know? Having dinner with the two of you. Just being us.”

“You mean a human, a werewolf, and a fae?” Derek said, with no small amount of sarcasm. 

“You make it sound like a bad joke. That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s the truth though. And you’re not doing your dad any favors by helping him ignore this.”

“It was one dinner!” Stiles threw up his hands in exasperation.

“But you’re planning on it being more than that. You need to talk to him, explain things.” Derek stared him down.

Stiles shook his head, “Just stop. I don’t want to argue with you.” 

“Because you know I’m right,” Derek answered. 

Stiles straitened his shoulders. “You should go. I want you to leave. Go away, Derek.”

Derek’s frown grew more pronounced. “No.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. “I appreciate your dinner and everything, but I won’t do what you want.”

Derek tilted his head in confusion. “What I want?”

“You can’t control my actions, Derek.”

“What? That’s not what I’m doing,” Derek said, scornfully. “We have a difference of opinion.”

Stiles wanted this conversation to be over. “Like I said before, get out. Leave. Go away.”

“Jesus, Stiles!” 

The Derek of old would have had Stiles up against the wall by now,. Instead, he glared at him before turning around and walking out of the room.

 

***

 

As soon as Derek left, Stiles wanted to call him back and apologize. But he didn't.

He sat down on his bed to wait.

Derek had said something to his dad on the way out. There was no way his dad wasn’t going to check on him.

“Son?” His dad stood at the doorway, uncertain. 

“Yeah, Dad,” Stiles said, in a defeated tone. 

His dad took a hesitant step into his bedroom. He shivered and frowned over at the wide open windows. 

Stiles could have kicked himself. Was the room too cold for normal? There was so much to this he hadn’t even thought of.

He busied himself with closing the windows, while he asked, “Something up?” 

His dad sat on the bed and patted it, waiting for him to sit back down. “Stiles, did something happen between you and Derek? He left pretty quickly.”

Stiles could imagine just how much his dad would not want to be having this conversation. It would be right up there with eating broccoli and watching the Syfy channel. 

“You know how it is,” he joked. “I opened my mouth and stupid hurtful words came out.” He shrugged. “That’s what I do. It’s my thing.”

His dad gave him an understanding nod. He did indeed know how that was. “Do I need to tell you to fix it?”

“No.” 

“Can I tell you anyway? It’s been a while since I got to be voice-of-reason-parent.” 

“Go for it.”

His dad put on his best Sheriff-Dad voice. “Stiles Stilinski, I don’t know what you did, but if you know it was wrong why are you waiting to tell Derek you’re sorry? Give him a call.” 

There was a moment of silence.

Stiles quirked an eyebrow. “Feel good?”

His dad leant over and ruffled his hair. “Yep.”

“I know I have to say sorry. And I will. But I … misplaced my phone.”

He’d been about to tell his dad his phone was broken but stopped just in time. Being normal didn’t include not having a phone because he was unable to use technology. 

“That’s a new phone, Stiles.” His dad didn’t have to pretend to be disappointed. 

“I know.”

“Find it.” 

“I will.” 

Stiles knew where it was. He’d placed it on his shelves, ready to use again if he finally got control of his technophobic reaction. It was ironic that he knew exactly where it was when it didn’t work, but when it had he couldn’t remember where he’d left it.

His dad put his hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I know how hard things have been lately. And I just want you to know, I’m really glad you’re back.” 

Stiles was cringing inside as his dad wished him goodnight and left his room, closing the door behind him.

He listened to him moving around the house, settling in bed, and the silence that followed.

Then he slipped out the window onto the grass.

He quietly moved down the side of the house, evaded the porch light, and stole across to the sycamore tree.

Climbing up the tree and then settling down, Stiles wrapped himself in his blanket.

The tension from being in the house flowed away and he let his glamour go, relaxing in the freeing sensation of it. If he was out in the forest he wouldn’t have to worry about his glamour. And he could run with Derek.

Stiles imagined it for a while, sinking into the tree’s embrace, picturing running alongside a black wolf. Just the two of them. No expectations, no worries. Only freedom and the wild.

Then he shook it off. 

He was going to do his best to be a good son for his dad. That meant not dropping his glamour, spending time indoors, and not doing fae stuff where his dad may see.

He could do this.

 

***

 

The next morning, Stiles crept back in his window before his dad got up. He hadn’t slept, too preoccupied with Derek and their disagreement. By the time the sky started to lighten, he was over-tired and moody with regret.

Making his way into the bathroom, he found he hadn’t pulled his glamour on. It took a little while to get it to stick. Profoundly grateful he hadn’t run into his dad in the hallway, he had a new appreciation for all the times the pack had trouble controlling their shifts. 

When he sat at the kitchen table he was too tired to really focus, so he methodically ate his way through two apples in a kind of daze.

He’d picked up a pear and taken a bite, when his dad said, “Stiles?” and brought him out of his head space.

“Hmm?”

“What are your plans for tomorrow?”

“Nothing. Why?” Stiles asked, suspiciously.

His dad was smiling. “Can you make sure you’re here?”

“Sure, I guess.” Stiles narrowed his eyes at his dad.

“There’s just some things I’d like to do with you tomorrow. I’ve got the day off.”

Stiles’ mouth dropped open. “You want to spend the day with me?” 

Perhaps he should have hidden how surprised that made him feel if his dad’s expression was anything to go by. 

“I do. Is that okay?”

A little sliver of happiness wormed its way into Stiles’ heart. “Yeah. Yeah, Dad, that’s okay.”

 

***

 

Stiles fluffed around the house for a bit until his dad left for work and then hightailed it outside. He needed to feel the earth under his toes and the sun on his skin, the breeze in his hair. 

He rolled his head on his shoulders and flung his arms around in circles, trying to loosen himself up physically and mentally. He started on his physio stretches, hoping they would help. The longer he went through the motions, the more centered his mind and body became.

He was bending over, stretching out his back and calves when a noise had him spinning around, almost tripping over his feet in his haste. The tranquility of the moment burst.

Derek was standing near the back porch. He must have walked around the side of the house when no one answered the front door.

Stiles tried to get his mouth to work past a sudden dryness. “You came back,” he eventually said.

Derek looked surprised. “Did you think I wouldn’t?” He walked over to where Stiles was. “You did, didn’t you.”

“I,” Stiles swallowed. “I told you to go away.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “It’s not the first time someone’s told me that. I only went home for the night.” 

“You came back,” Stiles said softly. He wished he wasn’t so hung up about it, but it wasn’t something he could help.

Derek tilted his head, frowning in confusion.

Stiles wanted to be somewhere else, becoming increasingly uncomfortable the longer Derek stared at him. He hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands in his pockets. 

The frown cleared off Derek’s face. “Stiles, I’m sorry.”

The apology caught Stiles off guard. “For what?”

“For leaving in Mexico.”

It was Stiles’ turn to frown, not understanding. “Mexico? You don’t need to apologize for that.”

Derek nodded, “Yeah, I do, for more than one reason. I was being a coward. And things would be different right now if I’d stayed. That’s on me.”

Stiles didn’t understand what Derek was going on about, but he figured if Derek felt he needed to say sorry, the least he could do was accept it. He shrugged. “Well, you came back.”

“Yeah, I did.” Derek pulled him into a hug and immediately put his nose against Stiles’ neck.

Stiles was enveloped in earthy wolf smell and the longer he breathed in the comforting scent, the quieter his mind became.

“Okaay,” he said, slowly.

Derek moved only enough to say, “Yeah?” his lips brushing the skin below Stiles’ ear. 

“Apology accepted,” Stiles said, trying to stay on track. “If you accept mine for being an ass to you.”

“Sure,” Derek agreed easily, still breathing him in. 

Stiles tugged at him, wanting to see his face. “So we’re good?” He needed to hear Derek say it.

Derek gave his beautiful soft smile that Stiles liked so much. “We’re good.”

 

***

Derek stayed the rest of the day with Stiles in the bower of the sycamore tree, sitting with their backs to the massive trunk.

Derek used a map on his phone to show Stiles where his home was. He also had a few photos of it, but it required Stiles to do a bit of cajoling before he conceded to show him. 

Derek paused before opening the photos. He was still a bit reserved about sharing, which Stiles didn’t want. “Come on, Der, show me. I really want to see,” he begged.

Derek’s mouth twitched into a slight smile and he angled the phone so Stiles could watch. He had only three photos, but they gave a fairly good idea of what the house was like. Stiles had been spot on with how much work was needed before it could be considered properly habitable.

“At least tell me you’re sleeping in the part which has a roof,” Stiles said, as he sighed internally. 

Derek nodded. “I even have a bed,” he said, dryly.

“You’re coming up in the word,” Stiles replied, then recalled the bed in the loft. “Well at least not going backwards.”

Settled in a small clearing, surrounded by forest, the house was made from wooden slats and irregular brick framework to form a cabin-like construction. Rectangular and long, with the entrance on one of the short ends, it rested above the ground on brick plinths. A porch started out the front with wooden steps leading up to it and continued to wrap around one side. Everything was in a state of broken down neglect. Warped boards, leaning walls, peeling paint. 

Derek flipped through the photos again. “It’s in better condition than it looks,” he said.

Stiles thought that may be wishful thinking, Derek’s basis for comparison was definitely lower than the average person. 

“Are there any photos of the inside?” 

Derek shook his head. 

“Then I’ll have to come over and see it for myself.”

Derek had a little smile on his face when Stiles side-eyed him to see his reaction. 

Stiles smiled too, but his was wider. “I like it,” he said, truthfully. “It has potential. I can see you living there.”

He dropped his hand from where his fingers hovered over the phone. Stiles could see himself there, too, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud. He could imagine himself walking in the surrounding forest with Derek, having meals together, spending the night … 

He stopped that heart-wreaking train of thought before it could bloom into an unattainable dream. 

Derek turned his phone off and tucked it away in a pocket. When he next spoke, he was quiet and introspective. “I’ve been thinking after you mentioned it the first time, about getting it fixed up. I guess I had the idea already in the back of my mind but I wasn’t really considering it.”

Stiles liked that he’d helped the idea to grow. “Are you now?”

“It’d be good, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah!” Stiles sat forward and turned to face Derek. “Having a place near where you grew up, something that’s all yours? Close enough to town for utility connections, but far enough away that you wouldn’t have to worry about having all the supernatural stuff seen by outsiders? That’s an awesome idea!” He lowered his arms which had flailed with his enthusiasm. He rubbed his mouth and gave a quirky grin. “You could fix it up just how you want. Derek, it could be a real home if you let it.”

“A real home,” Derek repeated, an intense glint in his eyes. His gaze travelled over Stiles’ face. 

Having Derek look at him like that made Stiles heat up inside with the urge to kiss him. He dragged his eyes from Derek’s lips and focussed on their conversation.

“Can you picture it? That’s part of the battle in getting something done you know, picturing it first.”

He could feel himself getting swept up in the idea of the house. If he’d been lucky enough to own something like that, half of his problems would disappear. It occurred to him just how similar Derek and he were now with the things they needed and wanted from life.

He was also really liking the idea of Derek belonging to a place that didn’t feel transient. Derek settling down, having roots to hold him to Beacon Hills; it was appealing to Stiles and he wanted it to happen for purely selfish reasons, but also because it would be beneficial for Derek. It was never a good thing to feel like you belonged nowhere. 

Derek’s eyes still shone. He didn’t let Stiles know what he was thinking, but his eyes were still on him as he said, “I can see it.”

 

***

 

That night up in his tree, Stiles was feeling more at peace with himself than he had for almost half a year. To celebrate, he’d climbed up higher than he’d ever dared before. He'd been worried about being spotted, but the spring leaves had grown enough to give him some cover as he climbed and twisted his way up as high as he could go. He still wouldn’t do it during the day, but the night offered shelter in its shadows.

He was sitting up in the last branch that could safely hold his weight. Higher than his house, higher than the second story of the neighbor’s house. He had no fear of heights or falling any more. Being fae had wiped that human survival trait away.

The wind blew strong and wrapped itself around him. There was a part of him that wanted to open up his arms to it and step off into the emptiness and become part of the very air itself.

He could see for a great distance while up this high and using his fae eyes. The houses in his suburb were mostly dark with only a few lights still shining through windows. The street lights were a dull glow compared to the night sky.

Stiles found the stars compelling now. They were all sorts of different tones of brightness, seen through the constantly fluctuating colors of the atmosphere. They twirled and sparkled as they moved across the sky.

He was preoccupied with his star gazing, and it took a noise to alert him to what was happening below. He glanced down.

The porch light had been activated. A figure stepped off the porch and walked around the side of the house near his bedroom. Stiles was certain that it wasn’t his dad, nor Derek, or anyone else he knew. 

His heart was pounding as he slipped one leg over the branch and jumped quietly down to the one below it, all the while watching the figure as they stepped back and quietly observed the house. He kept to the opposite side of the tree as he continued his downwards climb.

Stiles wasn’t sure what he was going to do when he got to the ground. He was stronger now, but not knowing who this was he wasn’t sure he wanted to go in there swinging. The chances of it being a supernatural creature were pretty high, given the pack’s history, so he was wary. But if it was a human intent on a quick break and enter and Stiles decked them, he could possibly kill them, which he definitely didn’t want to do.

He slipped down to the ground and peered out from behind the sycamore’s trunk. The figure wasn’t there. 

Stiles debated his next move. While he was thinking, his magic reached out and stroked the air around him. The whispers of it tugged at his mind, the currents swirling in his consciousness. He followed the invisible patterns as they stretched their way through the yard. Every time the air bumped into something it changed direction and Stiles found he could sense what the obstruction was. They touched trees, ground, plants, building structures. But no person. He got caught up in this new experience, his mind preoccupied with soaring in the air above the gardens, going even higher than his tree climbing. When he finally swooped down he got a shock by bumping into himself. 

He was still standing, hiding behind the tree, touching the trunk with one hand and feeling the earth through the soles of his feet. But he was also the air twisting around his head, over his arms and outwards in another wide sweep of the yard. The dual awareness was difficult to maintain and the part of him floating free settled back into his body.

He leaned against the tree trunk, feeling incredibly tired and somewhat dizzy. He ended up sitting, almost lying at the foot of the tree, trying to keep his eyes open. 

When he blinked next, the sun was starting to rise. He was in an awkward position, and when he stood up, his neck complained at having been at such an angle for so long. He rubbed at his muscles to loosen them up.

He went up onto the porch and checked out the back door, but couldn’t tell if it had been tampered with. He jumped off the porch and walked around the side of the house looking for anything out of place, but finding nothing.

Stiles stood near his window. He was completely creeped out by the fact someone had been there last night. It made him feel distinctly uneasy and slightly nauseous.

There was something more happening here than just a break-in, the awareness of it was nibbling away at his brain. There was a connecting thread he’d normally be tugging on, trying to squirrel out more information.

But he pulled away from it. He didn’t want to think about it anymore. 

Stiles rubbed at his face and shook his head. He blinked a few times and opened his window. He climbed in and locked it behind him.

A while later his dad opened his door. With a big smile, he said, “Happy eighteenth, son!”

“Huh?” was Stiles’ eloquent reply.

It was his birthday? How did he forget it was coming up? It wasn’t long after Lydia’s and he used to have a daydream about sharing a party with her. 

His dad laughed at his evident confusion. “I knew you’d forgotten!”

“Are you sure?” Stiles asked, trying to work out if this was a prank.

It didn’t feel like his birthday. Birthdays came after almost two weeks of anticipation and a steadily growing excited feeling that eventually bubbled over on the big day. 

His dad was still chuckling when he leant over to give Stiles his first-of-the-day birthday hug. “I’m making you pancakes,” he said, and left the room whistling. 

Stiles rubbed his eyes and took a moment to process, profoundly touched that his dad had taken the day off work for his birthday. It had been years since he’d done that and Stiles saw it for the peace offering it was.

 

***

 

Stiles was unsettled as he sat down at the kitchen table to eat his birthday breakfast.

He was worried there was a car trip in his immediate future which would cause his charade to come crashing down because he still couldn’t go anywhere near them. He didn’t have the nerve to ask what his dad had planned, so he just scoffed down the pancakes and made appreciative comments because if there was one thing his dad could cook, it was breakfast foods.

His dad was sitting across from him, a small box sitting near his elbow. Stiles couldn’t help the glances he kept giving it. Normally he’d already worked out what he was getting at least a week in advance as his dad was not known for his gift buying expertise. But this time Stiles had no idea. He couldn’t even list one thing. 

When breakfast was done and Stiles had taken the plates to the sink and sat back down, his dad pushed the box towards him. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted for your birthday this year, things being as they were, so I apologize if it’s not up to my usual standards.”

They shared a grin as Stiles lifted the lid. He found numerous gift cards for clothes, books and music. Stiles probably would have gone for them too if he’d had to shop for himself. 

“Thanks, Dad. These are great.”

“Well, the books and music are more for fun but I thought the clothing may help for getting back into school. New things for a new start.”

Stiles’ fingers clenched around one of the cards. He loosened his grip slowly, making an effort to hide his sudden nerves. “School. I won’t be graduating though, will I?” he asked.

“No, not this year. But next school term you can start again. That’s only a few months away.” His dad was frowning, picking up on something from him, but not sure yet what it was.

Stiles didn’t want to have this argument on his birthday, so before his dad could work out what he was hiding, he gave a fake smile and pushed the box and cards to the side before standing up to give his dad a hug. 

After lunch, his dad surprised him by suggesting they take a walk. They’d never been the type for walking, apart from Stiles’ own forays into the aspen forest, so this was interestingly odd.

He stood out in the front yard and warily checked out the power lines, pushing down all of his senses. He squashed everything down so deep that by the time they started walking down the driveway his mind was swimming in a thick soup. It was discomforting and wrong, but it allowed him to walk under the power lines and past cars, metal poles, and everything else Stiles had never bothered to pay attention to until he was fae.

His dad was content to just wander down their street, and with his mind in a continuous dog paddle Stiles wasn’t able to do much more than walk beside him. They were both quiet, and the rarity of the situation struck Stiles again. 

They’d never just walked down the sidewalk together, not since he’d been under seven years old. Then it was all about learning to ride a bike and going to the nearby park, the kind of outings that families with young children do. His mom had been with them then and Stiles was all too aware of how many things they’d stopped doing when she’d left. She’d taken more than just herself away.

They kept going for a while, down a second street when they came to the end of theirs, just strolling along, not saying anything to each other. 

His dad’s phone rang. He answered and after a brief argument with the desk clerk at the station, then another one with Parrish, he sighed and hung up.

He looked at Stiles apologetically, and they both turned and started the walk back home.

Stiles wasn’t all that upset. Sure, he would have liked to spend more of his birthday with his dad but he knew what being the sheriff entailed and didn’t begrudge his dad the times it called him away. 

His dad took off in the cruiser, Stiles waiting until it was out of sight before heading up the driveway, past his jeep.

He stopped and hovered a hand over it. He honestly missed driving his jeep. He loved it so much and he wanted to be able to get in and just go wherever he wanted. He’d been ignoring how confined he felt, but he was very aware of it right then. Not being able to go anywhere was stifling him.

Stiles reached forward slowly and touched the jeep’s door handle. When nothing happened he opened the door. He didn’t need his keys to do that, the lock being broken ages ago. He tried not to shake too much as he sat in the driver’s seat and closed the door. He sat back in the seat and placed his hands on the steering wheel.

“I did it,” he whispered. 

True, sitting in his car for a few seconds was not really a world-altering thing, but it gave Stiles hope that he was going to find a way to get his life back on track.

“I’m not giving up,” he told himself, “I’m going to work this out. I can be what ever I want to be. That includes a fae who can deal with iron.”

After a few more seconds, Stiles had to get out. The crawling wrongness of the situation was starting to be too much. If he let go of his fae instincts for even a second, he’d be in a lot of trouble.

With a sigh, he slipped out of his jeep and shut its door. He patted the hood, because he wasn’t about to loose this fight, and slowly walked around to the back of the house.

 

***

 

For the rest of the afternoon Stiles sat on the grass practicing his astral projecting. He was able to get to the Nemeton with each try but nowhere else. It was frustrating and he didn’t really understand it. None of the knowledge he’d gained from the fae explained why it was occurring. 

He’d just come back to his body after another failure, when Derek touched his shoulder and startled him so completely he squawked and flailed around.

“Jesus! Who creeps around like a creeper? God!” Stiles sent Derek a glare while he held a hand to his chest. 

Derek chuckled in amusement and sat down next to him. He held out a small brown bag. “Happy Birthday, Stiles,” he said.

Stiles gaped at him and took the bag. He clasped it tightly, showing his incredulity. “You got me a present? You know it’s my birthday?”

“I’ve known for a while.”

Stiles contemplated this piece of information. Sure, he knew when Derek’s birthday was, but Derek knew his?

“Since when?” 

“For a while,” Derek reiterated. He raised his eyebrows at Stiles in a way that meant that was all he was getting for his answer. 

Stiles humphed and looked down at the bag. It wasn’t very large but there was weight to it. He held it up to the light and tried to guess what was inside from the shadow, but the bag was too thick. Ignoring Derek’s roll of his eyes, Stiles gently squeezed it, but couldn’t fathom what it was he was holding although the shape lent itself to many possibilities. He spent a few seconds trying to guess silently and hid a smile at Derek waiting impatiently.

“If you don’t want it, I can take it back,” Derek said, dryly, and slowly reached out a hand.

Stiles held the bag out of Derek’s reach. “No way! I want it!”

“It could be something you hate,” Derek reasoned.

Stiles scoffed. “You wouldn’t give me a crap present.”

“Mmm, are you so sure?”

Stiles chuckled. “Not on purpose anyway.” 

He was honestly bursting with eagerness to open the bag and find out what it was. He was just about to when he paused.

What was that?

He cocked his head, intent on the slight humming he heard. 

He opened the flap of the bag and turned it upside down over his palm. A wooden ball rolled out and thumped into his hand. His fingers closed around it, and he inhaled sharply. There were several carved symbols on the ball, and when he touched one with a finger it lit up a part of his mind. He dropped the ball on the grass where it lay unassuming before him. 

Derek was worried. “I didn’t mean to actually get you a bad present.” He reached for it. 

Stiles grabbed his fingers. “No. You didn’t. You do know what this is, right?”

He’d be very surprised if Derek didn’t. This was not something you just came across.

“Mostly,” Derek frowned. “It’s part of the Nemeton, isn’t it?”

Stiles nodded, still blown away. “Yeah. Yeah, it is. Where did you get it?”

“It was in the family vault. I found it there when going through the papers for the house.”

“How did you know it was Nemeton wood?” Stiles asked. 

Derek was still frowning, obviously confused as he said, “When I touched it the first time, I saw the tree stump. I didn’t know what that meant, so I left it alone. But I thought because of what you told me about the Nemeton that you’d be the best person to have it.”

“You gave me a Hale family heirloom because I told you a story?”

Derek gave Stiles a disparaging frown. “No. I gave you part of the Nemeton because after what you said, it wasn’t right for me to hold on to it. I now know how we came to be in possession of it and I’m pretty sure it was telling me to give it back. If the triskelion box wasn’t a prison, I’d be getting Chris to send that back, too.”

Stiles threw his arms around Derek, almost sending both of them toppling over with the force he put behind it. “Why give it to me? Why didn’t you give it to the Tree?”

Derek said, without any doubt, “I did. I gave it to the fae who protects it. That’s the same thing.”

“How did you know?” Stiles whispered. He hadn’t told Derek about that.

“It’s perfectly logical.”

“No, it’s not.”

“But,” Derek frowned. “I knew when you told me the Nemeton’s history. You’re a protector. You care for your dad, your friends. It wasn’t that big of a stretch to make.”

Stiles shook his head. Derek had made connections no one should. “You’re selling yourself short on this one, Derek. But you can’t tell anyone else.”

“I won’t,” Derek promised.

“Pinky swear.” Stiles held out his finger, trying not to smile, but failing.

Derek shook his head, but took Stiles’ little finger in his own. “I pinky swear. No one will learn any of your secrets from me.”

As soon as he said it, a rush of energy twisted around the both of them. It was sudden and unnerving and left as quickly as it had started.

“Woah.” Stiles hadn’t anticipated that.

“What was that?” Derek asked, unnerved.

“Ah,” Stiles hadn’t understood what he’d been doing. He did now, but wished he’d known a few seconds before. “Sorry.”

“For what, Stiles?”

“We just completed a fae pact.” He cringed, unable to lesson the blow.

“We did what?” Derek didn’t sound impressed.

“I wasn’t actually aware that’s what we were doing,” Stiles shrugged apologetically. “And apparently all it takes is you swearing to me.”

“What exactly does that mean, Stiles?”

“Nothing bad! At least, I don’t think so?”

Stiles couldn’t blame Derek at all for the exasperated glare he was receiving.

“Stiles!”

“No, wait, just give me a second.”

Stiles had a lot of information including the research he’d done, and his fae knowledge. It was all jumbled up in him and was hard to remember clearly sometimes. It took a little while to recall what he knew.

“Making promises to a fae is a binding pact if the fae decides it’s important enough to hold you to it.”

“And you obviously thought it important enough.”

Derek’s unimpressed folding of arms did not make Stiles feel any better about the situation.

“Yeah.”

“What does that mean? Binding pact?”

Stiles chose his words carefully. “It’s a contract between us. Just don’t break your promise.”

“If I did?”

“I have the right to demand payment.”

“Such as?”

Stiles looked away. “I’d never hurt you, Der.”

Derek gave him a flat stare. “How did you not know what you were doing?” His voice couldn’t have been more dry if he’d walked a thousand miles through a desert with no water. 

“It’s all really new. Some things are bound to just slip out without me knowing.” 

It was a worry though because what if he’d accidentally roped Derek into a life-long pact of servitude or something? Not that the thought of Derek pampering to him didn’t have its own type of appeal, but he didn’t want to turn anyone into a slave.

He had to concede he’d earned Derek’s ire, even if he hadn’t meant to stuff up. He rubbed his arms self-consciously.

“Are you angry with me?”

“Not angry, annoyed,” Derek answered immediately. “I would have liked a heads-up, but I trust you.”

“I trust you too, you know. I’m not sure why my magic went so far with it. The pinkie finger thing was something my mom and I used to do. I was just kidding around.” 

“Maybe with something like this, the pact was needed no matter how much we trust each other,” Derek rationalized. 

“Maybe. But it’s probably just that I fucked up,” Stiles countered. 

 

***

 

The fae-pact thing with Derek had gotten Stiles thinking. Even though he had all this information at his disposal which should have helped him, he was a liability with unknown potential for disastrous behavior. 

Over the next few weeks following his birthday he dropped down into a new kind of depressive state. It was strange and frightening and he dealt with it alone. The only one he would have told was Derek, and unfortunately he wasn’t there as he’d been called away to help Cora.

It wasn’t just that Stiles missed him, which caused an ache to throb in him continually. He couldn’t shake the feeling he’d lost some vitally important defining part of who he was.

Trying to be ‘normal’ for his dad was a battle every day. It was slowly driving Stiles mad, having to monitor everything he did, but his dad was benefitting from it so he kept going.

At the moment, it was the end of the weekend and Stiles’ dad was getting lunch ready for them.

And Stiles was ignoring the signs that indicated he needed to be outside.

He was in his bedroom pondering the evidence of being able to travel through sunlight and take his body with him. He’d actually forgotten about it, which highlighted how weird his life was if moving though light was something he could so easily forget. He’d only remembered because he’d been trying to spend more time in his jeep. It hadn’t gotten any easier and he was frustrated. But if he could travel through sunlight he’d be able to go places. Gain more control over his life.

He was annoyed the fae had left him to stumble around, working this all out for himself. He didn’t have anyone to talk to. No one who was like him. He was so isolated it scared him.

He could feel something breaking inside.

 

***

 

“We’re going to talk about what’s going to happen next,” his dad dropped on him when they were sitting at the table.

Stiles blinked at him, keeping his face blank. He couldn’t handle this right now. “Happens next?” he asked.

“Now that you’re better. You can’t continue to sit back and not engage with the world. I’ve left off mentioning it because it hasn’t been that long since you got home but you’re fine now. It’s time you started thinking about school and afterwards.”

There was a build up of pressure behind Stiles’ eyes and he rubbed them with one hand.

“Stiles?”

“Huh?”

“You were listening, right?”

“Can’t we just see how things go?”

“Do you need more time? I thought you’d worked things out.” His dad was concerned.

“I am working things out, I just don’t see how talking about school is going to help.” 

“What’s wrong with talking about school?” his dad asked. “Is it because Scott and your friends won’t be there next year? Liam and Mason will be, won’t they?”

“It’s not the same, Dad.” Maybe Stiles could make his dad understand without having to explain everything.

“Of course it’s not, and in a perfect world you’d be graduating in two months, but that’s not going to happen, so we need to discuss what is going to.”

While his dad was talking, Stiles was focussing on his internal battle. All of the pressure that he’d been holding back was bubbling away. It had been too long since he’d gone into the forest. He’d been trying so hard to be human that he’d ignored the fact he wasn’t. He needed nature. He needed to be immersed in it. He was a mess of stunted instincts and power waiting to explode. He needed to leave before his dad was caught in the fallout.

Stiles pushed his chair back, and his dad grabbed his arm across the table. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” Stiles answered. When he stood up he tilted a bit, the world going slightly fuzzy around the edges.

“No, you’re not. You’ve been side-stepping this conversation for weeks now, Stiles. You’re going back to school when it starts up and we need to get you back on the registration. Sit down so we can talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m not going back.” There he’d said it. 

His dad dropped his arm. “What did you say?”

“I’m not going back to school. I don’t want to, there’s no future there for me.” 

Stiles tried to reach the back hallway, but his dad stood up and was in his way. “You’re not throwing away your future, Stiles!”

Stiles couldn’t take it anymore. He had a dim thought that Derek had been right before he said loudly, “What future? Do you see me, Dad? I’m not human! I will never have a human life!” He hurt everywhere. His body, his mind, his heart. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. “I can’t do it anymore!” 

A sweeping sensation flowed over him, his glamour dropped and his dad took a step backwards, bumping into the fridge. 

“Can’t bare it when you‘re faced with what I truly am, Dad?” 

Stiles advanced on him, feeling sick when his dad backed away out of the kitchen. 

“I’m not going back to school because just the idea of being there makes me feel so entirely uncomfortable I can’t even describe it. I can’t sit in my own car for longer than twenty minutes and you want me to handle a whole day, every day, five days a week? For a whole year?” He pulled at his hair and dropped his arms helplessly by his sides. His dad had moved enough that Stiles was now near the back door. “That’s not even the half of it, Dad, there’s so much more going on in my life than school!”

“But you need it, Stiles, it’s so important.”

“Not anymore, Dad. Not like it was. Perhaps in time I can think about it, but not now.” He put his hand on the doorknob.

“Stiles, I can’t let you do this.” His dad met his eyes finally.

But it was too little, too late. 

“How will you stop me? I’m an adult now, incase you forgot.” Stiles opened the door. As much as he was hurting he didn’t want his dad to be worried about where he was going, so he said, “Don’t worry about me, Dad. I’m going to the preserve, I’ll see you tomorrow maybe.”

“Stiles, the preserve? That’s too far away, you can’t walk there!”

Stiles smiled sadly. He stepped out onto the back porch, with his dad following behind. 

“Stiles, please don’t go.”

His dad sounded so distraught, Stiles almost stayed. But he couldn’t. 

He walked down off the porch and raised his face to the sunlight. He sighed loudly in relief. “I’ll be back, Dad.”

“Stiles, you promise me, promise me you’ll be safe.”

This time, his dad didn’t look away first, Stiles did. 

He needed to go. Being in the sunlight had only heightened the urge to leave. His mind was almost overcome with it.

He managed to choke out, “I promise,” before he ran across the yard and slipped out of sight through the trees and bushes.

 

***

 

Stiles was in the preserve. Getting there had been an exhilarating experience. He had no idea how long it took him. He guessed he was faster than a werewolf but he wasn’t sure. He’d run the whole way. 

When he’d tumbled into the aspen forest, he’d gone into a kind of fae state where everything else was lost for a while. He’d been stupid to deny this part of himself.

As he ran lightly through the undergrowth, stopping to touch certain trees, hear the animals scuffling about, catching glimpses of them as he flittered past, Stiles couldn’t recall why he’d stayed away.

He’d followed the pull of the Nemeton and kept heading in that direction. He didn’t get tired for a long time and when he had to rest, he placed his hands on the ground and the energy from the earth filled him back up again. From then on he let the earth’s tide seep into each footstep, continually charging him as he sped onwards. He didn’t get tired again.

Stiles came to an abrupt stop when he entered the Nemeton’s grove. Its power was rumbling; eager to be with him. He’d been neglecting it, ignoring it in order to be with his dad.

He lay down on the stump, and both he and the Nemeton let out relieved sighs; one physical the other magical, as they let their energies unfurl and mix together. 

 

***


	13. The Catalyst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Straw that breaks ...

During the past few nights up in his tree, Stiles had discovered something.

He’d done some experimenting and part of his fae magic was the ability to regulate how his body reacted to temperature changes.

It was instinctual, like the sun and the earth energizing him. It meant his night in the preserve had been pretty comfortable in just his t-shirt and pants. There’d been no discomfort from over-exposure, though the weather was still cold enough to warrant it. 

It was morning, the sun just beginning to warm the ground around the Nemeton, and Scott stepped into the grove.

Stiles supposed it looked strange to Scott, seeing him lying on top of a magical tree stump, in the middle of a forest, wearing clothes better suited for warmer weather, with no shoes. But he didn’t really care about the strangeness of it. He’d been so immersed in his surroundings, he’d found out something else about his magic.

He’d been listening to the trees tell him of Scott’s progress through the preserve.

Scott had taken his bike as far as he could, and Stiles had tracked him by using the trees’ awareness of vibration in the ground and the sensation of roots he bumped over. When he got off his bike and walked, Stiles picked up footsteps, the earth moving with the press of feet.

It was a disjointed sensation and he kept getting sidetracked by animals, but he’d done alright until Scott had gotten close enough he had to decide if he wanted to be found.

Part of the information dump he’d been given by the Tree was the knowledge of how to keep people out of the Nemeton’s presence. The Tree was good at it itself, but a little bit of help now and then was needed. Some people were tricky and would need an even trickier person to dissuade them.

Now he wasn’t pretending to be human anymore, Stiles admitted to himself just how important his role of protector would be. 

He continued to recline on the stump as Scott walked up to him, then cracked open an eye.

Scott was staring at him with a carefully composed blank expression.

Stiles sighed internally, and sat up. This should be interesting.

“You always going to be a dick to Deaton?” Scott asked.

“Good morning to you, too,” Stiles greeted him.

Scott pulled a hand through his hair. “Yeah, hi. So, are you?”

Stiles paused before answering.

He hadn’t given any thought to how Scott would react to him not liking his mentor and boss. That it was weighing on him hadn’t occurred to Stiles at all.

He crossed his legs, and invited Scott to sit on the stump with him. A sign of utmost trust.

“Yes. I will,” he answered.

“But why? He’s only ever helped us! Helped you!”

“It’s not about what he’s done for the pack.” Stiles ignored the comment about Deaton helping him specifically. “It’s because of what he did here.”

“Stiles, you’re just being a jerk.”

“No, I’m not. There are reasons.”

“Then what are they?” 

“Do you see how smooth the cut is?” Stiles ran his hand along the Nemeton in a caress. “How would that be possible do you think?”

Scott frowned down at the stump. “How’s that important?”

“You asked. I’m telling you. You’re getting an education here, dude. Not one that many people get. So suck it up. Do you see it?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“How would it have happened? You’d need a pretty big chainsaw. Don’t see a timber cutting machine getting their way through into here, do you?”

“No. There’d have to be a cleared road.”

Now Scott was thinking. Stiles wanted to pat him on the head.

“Yeah. And this is a magical area, too. A ritual place. Lots of energy. Lots of power would be needed to even get close if you were coming here with intent to chop down a centuries old magical being.”

Scott scoffed. “Magical being. Yeah, right.”

Stiles glared at him. He dropped his glamour. “Don’t disrespect the Nemeton because you don’t believe what I’m saying, Scott. Not while you’re sitting on it. If you’re finding this too hard to understand, you can leave. Right now.” 

Scott was lucky Stiles loved him. He got a chance to apologize.

Scott sat back a bit. “Um. Dude. Enough with the face. I’m sorry for what I said.”

Stiles didn’t know whether to be insulted or bemused or just angry. First his dad, now his best friend.

“You got a problem with how I look, Scott?” 

“No! Not really.”

“Then what the hell? Explain it to me. You react like I’m going to hurt someone. I understand it from Dad, he’s human, but you’re a True Alpha, dumbass, so what’s your problem? Am I not furry enough for you?”

“That’s not it, Stiles. I don’t know if I’d react the same way to other fae, but I don’t think so.”

Stiles pulled his glamour back on. “So, it’s me?”

“Let me explain, okay?” 

Stiles waved a hand in his direction.

“I’ve seen a lot of scary stuff, but you’re so,” Scott trailed off, shrugging.

“Not me?” Stiles guessed.

“Yes! Not you. I can’t get over it.”

“You can’t get over it.” Stiles wanted to strangle Scott a little bit. “It’s not like you’re the poster boy for humanity, Scott. Don’t you remember when your mom saw you for the first time, how her reaction made you feel?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Then stop being such a God-damn hypocrite!”

Scott was contrite. “I don’t mean to be. Really. It’s just that, it’s you.”

“What?”

“You won’t like what I say.”

“I’m already not liking what you’re saying. Just spit it out.”

“I think the problem is the Nogitsune. When you’re not looking right, I think threat. I know you’re not one, but it’s how I react. I’ll work on it, okay?”

Stiles was quiet, then he repeated, “When I’m not looking right.”

“God, Stiles. That’s not what I meant —”

“How about we just drop this, Scotty?” Stiles was done with this conversation.

Scott though, in true Scott fashion, wouldn't be put off. “Deaton says you use fae glamour to hide who you are almost all the time.”

Stiles snarled out, “That bastard druid needs to shut his fucking mouth!”

“Stiles!” Scott was shocked.

“Here’s the truth of it, Scott. You don’t want to hear me bad mouth your Yoda, you don’t bring him up. And you definitely don’t talk to me about what he says in regards to me!”

“Fine.”

“Good.” 

There was a uncomfortable pause between them until Scott slumped his shoulders. “This to do with the Nemeton?”

Stiles was honestly surprised Scott had worked that out by himself. “Yeah. Back to the teaching part of our program?”

Scott gave him an apologetic look. “Yep. Go on, I’m listening.”

Stiles placed his hand back on the stump, smiling softly at the energy that flowed around his fingers at the touch. “The Nemeton in its heyday was imbibed with ritual magic from fae, druids, and other creatures.”

“I thought it was just a druid place?”

Stiles couldn’t help his condescending snort. “That’s what the druids would like everyone to believe, but no. In fact, this particular area was connected more to the fae than any other. It’s partly why my people were able to stay in Beacon Hills for as long as they did. When it was cut down it reduced their hold on the area. They were forced to relocate.”

“Your people. You said, 'your people'.”

“It’s the truth.” There was nothing wrong with him saying it.

Scott sighed. “I know, it’s just that, I guess, hearing you say it just makes me realize again that there’s this whole other side to you now that I don’t really understand. That I’ll never understand. It’s really hard. You’re my bro, but I’m not as close to you now.”

Stiles stared at Scott, then chuckled grimly in disbelief.

“What?” Scott asked defensively.

“Are you kidding me right now? You’re whining about our friendship because there’s a supernatural part to me that you can’t fully understand?”

“Yeah, I am. It’s true!”

“Scott. You’ve been a werewolf for how long now? Years, man. It never occurred to you that all my researching and being the most supportive friend you ever had was a way for me to connect to the world I was looking at mostly from the outside?”

Scott rubbed his hand across the stump, pouting. But he didn’t say anything.

Stiles stopped the shiver that wanted to crawl up his spine.

He could feel it if he wanted to; the wolf aura Scott put out in every touch. He could also feel Scott’s butt sitting on the stump if he had the inkling to do so, but he wasn’t going there at all, so he ignored the Nemeton’s awareness of Scott that was at the edges of his mind.

Scott sighed, and gave Stiles a rueful smile. “No. It didn’t. I just always thought of you as being right there with me. I never thought about what it was like for you.” 

It figured. Scott was very good at being oblivious to others, especially Stiles.

Stiles shook his head a him, and tried to explain. “I made myself as much a part of it as I could. I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad, Scott. Just so you know I understand your feelings about me being fae. But you also need to know, the problems your having? They’re because of you, man. If you want to be close to me, be close to me. Just go with it, instead of fighting it. Part of that is realizing that sometimes I’m going to act differently to when I was human, and I’m never going to like your boss again. It’s who I am.”

Scott’s face fell a little, and Stiles wanted to hug him and smack him upside the head at the same time. 

“Dude, it’ll take time, I get it. But you also need to remember that for the most part, I’m still me. Just like being a wolf didn’t change the bigger parts that make up who you are. You may have started howling at the moon —”

“I’ve only ever done that a few times, Stiles.”

“— but you never became a totally different person. Even when you were trying to kill me. It was still you underneath. So if I do stuff that is different, remember that I’m still me. And we’ll be fine.”

“You just monologued me, man,” Scott said, trying not to smile.

“I totally did,” Stiles agreed. “I’m a monologuing god. I could give Mel’s ‘Wallace’ a run for his money. 'They will never take my freedom!'” He threw up a clenched fist.

“That movie is historically inaccurate, you know, to a really huge degree. The fight on the hill didn’t even happen. It was on a bridge.”

Stiles groaned. “It’s called an adaptation, and so not the point, Scott.” 

Scott raised his eyebrows. “You want to continue with your historical tale?”

“Nice segue, dude. And yes. It all comes back to who chopped the Nemeton down.”

“Who did?”

“The druids, Scott. And your druid was part of the group who did it.”

Scott gave an unbelieving huff. “Why the hell would he do that? I thought druids worshipped this place?”

“That’s not a simple question and I can’t answer it because I don’t know for sure. The easy answer is, they did. He did. It hurt the fae. A lot. And it hurt the Nemeton, more than any druid ever cared to understand. So I won’t be polite to him, or like him, ever again.”

Scott leant back on his hands. “Is that a fae thing for you? The not letting go of the past?”

“No, that’s a me thing, Scott. You should know that. And it’s more than the past. It’s the Nemeton as it is now, it’s all the horrible things that happened because it was cut down, it’s the fact that it made the fae move on from here, it’s the fact it’s like it just happened. When I get close to him, it’s all just there.”

Scott was frowning down at the stump. “Did you know all this at the beginning?”

“No. The way I behaved then was bleed over from the fae who chose me. I didn’t know the reasons.”

“And now you do, you feel the same way.”

“Yes.”

“So it’s like a genetically passed down trait of fear,” Scott said, with authority. 

Sometimes Scott broke Stiles’ brain.

“What?”

“Something I learned. Apparently, phobias can be passed down from generations through DNA. They did a study on mice, with blossoms.”

“Ookay. Except this is hatred. Not fear.”

“Nothing to say that can’t be passed down too,” Scott pointed out reasonably.

“Maybe.”

“You don’t think it’s possible that what you’re feeling is because of fae influence?”

“I know it is. But it’s not like I’ve become a Borg, Scott!” Stiles had to take a deep breath. “I wish I could show you. That you could feel it.”

“Feel what?”

“The Nemeton’s pain. Watch it be cut down, feel it happening, the magic being corrupted and warped and changed and dying. The devastation of the fae. And then maybe you could understand everything that’s happened since.”

“Can you do that?”

“I can’t show you, no.”

“No, I mean. Have you been through that?” Scott sounded honestly appalled for Stiles.

“Yeah. I guess the best analogy would be when they cut the Hometree down in Avatar.” He was hoping this got through to Scott. He’d cried when he’d watched it, even if he denied it. 

Scott sucked in his breath and his eyes went wide. He touched Stiles’ leg. “Dude,” he said in understanding.

Stiles was realizing that sitting on the Nemeton was not the place for this conversation. It was picking up on his thoughts and starting to react to them.

“We need to talk about something else, or leave.”

“What, why?”

Stiles tapped a finger on the stump. “It’s not a good idea to continue this here.”

The Nemeton was stretching out and bumping against his mental walls.

“You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“The face. You’re being all fae-you.” Scott didn’t sound as worried about it this time. Instead, he tilted his head to the side and studied him.

Stiles grimaced but didn't pull his glamour back on, leaving it for Scott's benefit. He moved off the stump to stand up.

He could still feel the Nemeton and by extension the other trees in the grove. It must have been incredible when the grove had been whole and full of all sorts of magic during a peaceful time. He may have seen an echo of it in the fae’s memory, but the real thing would have been something else entirely.

Scott followed him. “Today’s the longest you’ve been changed. Normally it’s only for seconds, which is why it was so creepy. This is kinda cool, Stiles. Do you have to concentrate or is it more instinctive?”

Scott’s abrupt change in perspective completely floored Stiles, thought it shouldn’t have. Scott’s emotions flowed like water, causing numerous issues for Stiles who’s opinions tended to be more solid. He’d wished more than once Scott would just stick to something, namely; whatever Stiles thought was right.

“Uh. I can do it when I want and it’s pretty simple, but sometimes I don’t know I’m doing it,” he admitted.

“Really?” Scott was intrigued. “When I first changed, holding it was easier but I still had to focus. Unless it was happening for some reason I couldn’t control.”

Stiles mused that dropping a glamour sounded a lot easier than actually changing bone and muscle structure. He was always fae; even if no one could see it or touch it. 

“How do you feel when you do it?” Scott asked.

Stiles thought about it. ”I feel cold. Not physically, emotionally? No, just less, but also more?”

“Like you’re standing removed from everything but at the same time can feel everything too strongly?”

“Yeah.” Stiles was shocked by Scott’s accurate wording; both the fact he used those words and that they were so spot on. It was obviously a day for Scott to surprise him. “How did you … ?”

“It’s similar to being a wolf, I guess, the feeling everything. But not the removed thing, that’s all you. It’s part of the creepy factor. Your eyes, man, they’re alien. We should find out if your face comes out on photos, so you can get a better idea why everyone freaks out about it.”

“Maybe.”

Stiles didn’t feel like telling Scott he’d checked himself out in the mirror more than once. He pulled his glamour back on, noticing how dull the world looked through human eyes.

Scott glanced up at the sky which had brightened into full morning while they talked. “Did you want a ride somewhere?”

Stiles didn’t really, but what the heck, he was feeling rested and energized from his night out in the preserve so he could chance riding on Scott’s bike. “Yeah. What day is it?”

“Monday. It’s so weird hearing you ask that.”

“Why? It’s not like I have school or anything else to judge it by. Time is different now.” 

They started walking.

“That’s true. Hey, what are you doing out here anyway? I called at your house last night and your dad was all sorts of pissed and upset. He said you were here, well not here, just in the preserve. Did you stay all night?”

“Would that be too weird if I said yes? And that school was actually the reason why I was out here?”

“No, not too weird, just different. Didn’t you get cold? I mean, all night?”

“It’s not like I have to feel that anymore, you know,” Stiles corrected him offhand. 

“What?”

Scott’s confusion reminded Stiles he hadn’t actually told anyone that piece of information.

“Weather will only effect me if I let it.”

Scott stopped walking. “No. Seriously?! That is the coolest thing I’ve ever heard. You mean you don’t get cold, or too hot?” He jogged a bit to catch up to Stiles who’d kept going.

“Hmm. I can still feel it. It just that my body isn’t effected. I don’t need to shiver to keep warm, or sweat to cool off.”

“Like I said, coolest thing ever! Who’d want to sweat if they didn’t need to?” 

Scott’s enthusiasm made Stiles laugh out loud. He thought it was pretty cool, too. 

“But what was that about school?” Scott bent and picked up a stick, twirling it while they continued walking. 

Stiles lowered his head and scrunched his shoulders up around his ears. He wasn’t proud of the way he’d behaved. “Dad and I got in a fight about it. He wants me to go back. I told him I’m not going to.”

“You’re not coming back?”

“No.”

“But Stiles —”

“What? There’s only a few more months before graduation. I’m behind so much I wouldn’t be graduating with any of you anyway, so what’s the point?”

“But you’d be with us! What about after? What about the group dream? All of us together?”

“Scott. That dream isn’t going to happen for me. Not anymore.”

“But why?” Scott had stopped walking again, radiating confusion and sadness. 

Stiles walked back to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Things have changed too much for me, Scott. I’m not like you.”

He dropped his hand and bumped his shoulder into Scott’s to get him walking again. They walked in silence for a while, just listening to their footsteps and the noises of the preserve. It was very peaceful. 

When they got to his bike, Scott said, “You’re supposed to be this all-powerful being now. But I get the feeling it’s not as easy as you make it look.”

Stiles shook his head. Why did people say this was easy for him? Derek, Lydia and now Scott had mentioned it. Was he really that good at hiding how screwed up he was? 

“All-powerful?” he scoffed.

Scott made him sound like a god or super-hero. And while he could make a joke about having joined the chess board, he definitely wasn’t either one of those.

“Semi-powerful? Quasi-powerful? You’re able to bring more game than before?” Scott picked up his helmet and passed the spare to Stiles as he got on his bike.

“Really, Scott? Bring more game?” Stiles put on the helmet and got on the back of the bike after he tamped down his reaction to the metals and gasoline. He grabbed Scott’s jacket in a death grip.

Scott laughed. Stiles liked to think it was at his comment, but it was more likely because he thought it hilarious at how terrified Stiles was of riding his bike.

“So where did you need to go?”

Stiles thought for a bit. Scott didn’t really need to take him all the way home. A short ride would be better. “Where did you come in?” He knew where, but Scott didn’t need to know that.

“I came by the dirt bike trail.”

“There’s fine. Wait. Shouldn’t you be at school?”

“Yeah. But somehow I thought finding my best friend after he spent the night in the preserve was more important.”

Stiles clapped him on the back. “I appreciate it.”

Scott shrugged. “You’ve done it for me.”

“True. We are awesome friends to each other.”

Scott went to start the bike, but Stiles touched his shoulder. “You going to school today? Now that you’ve found your wayward friend?”

“Unless he needs me for something, yeah. I can’t miss too many classes so close to graduation.”

Stiles groaned and rested his head on Scott’s back. “You had to remind me.” 

He really didn’t want to have to explain himself to his dad again. His heart jumped as a fresh spike of sadness hit it. Scott tipped his head; marking the change. Stiles waited for him to say something. 

Instead, Scott started the bike and Stiles held on even tighter than he’d been before. His sadness mixed with a rush of adrenalin as the bike rumbled underneath him. He quickly flipped the helmet visor down.

Scott laughed again, and Stiles was certain this time it was about his fear.

“Laugh it up, chuckle boy!” he called out to Scott over the motor. “If you … aaahhhh!” 

Stiles swore Scott made the ride worse than it had to be, just to feel him trembling and holding on too tight. He had no idea why he was still so scared of bike riding, considering he’d run through the trees last night at about the same speed. But he was.

After he got his feet back on solid ground, he hit Scott on the shoulder and called him a jerk. 

Scott saluted him as he took off, still laughing. 

Stiles held up his middle finger to salute him back.

 

***

 

Stiles warily returned home, taking longer than he had to, and stood at the tree line at the edge of the yard. He was rubbing the back of his neck constantly and couldn’t bring himself to take another step.

Spending the night at the Nemeton had helped a lot, but it had also made it very clear that no matter what his dad said, there were some things that Stiles wouldn’t be able to negotiate on. 

He and his dad were big on compromise and finding a middle ground with each other. They’d had to work that out over the years. Stiles didn’t like ultimatums and was smart enough to work out when he’d pushed too far and when he could demand a little leeway.

But there was nothing Stiles could give his dad in regards to all of this. There was no coming back from it. There would be no school, no college, no human life to be had. Or if there was, it wouldn’t be the one his dad had obviously been polishing in the back of his mind for years. 

Stiles understood. He’d had dreams. He’d wanted to work in law enforcement, follow in his dad’s footsteps. He’d had to let that go. He wasn’t sure when he had but it was probably the moment he became fully fae. Now he had no dreams, not really. He was adrift and floating. It was scary, and Stiles had a feeling no one was going to tow him back from where he’d sailed off to. 

He shook his head, pulling at his hair with his hands. He needed to stop with the boat metaphors. 

He steeled himself and walked up the yard, making a sudden detour from his destination of the back porch to his sycamore tree. He rested his head against its craggy trunk and breathed slowly to ward off the building panic attack. It was slow in coming, and had him sweating a little. There were dark patches in front of his eyes. 

The fact that this attack would probably have happened no matter what, didn’t make it easier to deal with. The closer he’d gotten to home, the more last night had weighed on him. That, and all the times his dad expressed displeasure at him for being fae.

His dad was his hero. Stiles desperately wanted his dad to look at him with pride and love him for everything he was. He needed to be good, better than he was, but he couldn’t be anything but someone who was deeply troubled and had serious defaults. He tried, he tried all the time. And he failed. Constantly. His dad deserved so much more than Stiles had ever been able to give him. He deserved a better son. 

Stiles held on to the bark with both hands and tried to sink himself into the tree’s awareness. It was harder than normal. With effort he managed to dip down into its energy flow. Its living force connected with him, and he breathed out. The tree gladly picked him up and cradled him, wrapped him up in its dreaming and took him into itself. 

Stiles let himself go.

 

***

 

When Stiles came back to himself, it was midday.

He’d slipped down and was on his knees, resting up against the sycamore’s trunk in an awkward press of chest and cheek. He could tell straight away that he was in fae form. He could feel it easily; the remoteness and the deeper connection to nature that dropping the glamour gave him. Talking to Scott had helped him to be more aware of it. 

He twisted around and sat up against the trunk of the tree and blinked up at the sky. He would have to go inside at some point. He’d told his dad he would be back today and if nothing else, Stiles didn’t want him to worry about that. It was small compensation for having a screw-up for a son, but the only thing Stiles could give to him right now.

“Stiles?”

Stiles whipped his head around at Derek’s voice and before he could stop himself, he was standing up and launching his body, flailing arms and all, into Derek, who stood not far from him under the sycamore’s overhang.

Derek’s arms closed around his suddenly shaking form and something clicked into place inside him.

“Derek,” he mumbled softly into a shoulder and turned his face to rest against warm skin. He breathed in deep and took as much of Derek’s scent into himself as he could.

Derek rubbed his chin softly against Stiles’ head. There was a rumbling coming from his chest, reverberating through Stiles and making him shuffle even closer to feel it deep in his own lungs.

The movement caused his half-hard dick to press against Derek’s hip. Normally he’d be freaking out, and trying to excuse himself from the situation, but his immediate relief in having Derek back with him was enough to root him to the spot. What put his mind into a free-fall dive was the fact Derek was hard too. An echoing line of heat burning into him that made his own dick swell further.

A shiver of apprehension traveled through him. He ignored it for the overwhelming rightness of the moment.

“Stiles,” Derek breathed out into his hair.

“You came back,” Stiles said stupidly.

Derek looked at him, his face holding a brief sadness before smoothing out. He touched Stiles’ cheek. “I came back to you.”

Stiles smiled, and ran the back of his fingers over Derek’s jaw. “I missed you,” he confessed.

A light ignited in Derek’s eyes. “Stiles?” he asked, hopeful.

“Derek.” Stiles could only hope his own eyes were expressing half of what he was feeling right then.

Derek’s answering smile was as blinding as it was soft, and so beautiful to Stiles. Derek moved at the same time he did, and then they were kissing.

Stiles’ world shrunk inwards; consisting of only Derek and himself. At the same time it was also infinitely bigger than it had ever been; the entirety of his being lit up from within and soaring free.

Derek steered him until the sycamore was against his back. He slotted their hips together and rocked in a way that had Stiles jerking uncoordinatedly until he caught the rhythm. The push and pull of Derek’s lips, and God, his tongue, as it twined with his own, made Stiles groan desperately.

Everywhere was a tingle of electric sparks; to the hand under his shirt running up and down his side, to the squeeze of fingers against the back of his head, to the hips rolling into his own thrusts, to the mouth and teeth nipping down his neck to suck on his clavicle.

Stiles bared his neck, tipping his head to the side. “Love you, Derek,” he slurred through hitched breath and a drawn-out moan. “Love you so much.”

Derek’s answer was to bite down gently with human teeth and growl, low and urgent, against Stiles’ neck.

Stiles arched up under him and grabbed Derek’s head, trying to get him even closer. He needed Derek closer, damn it. Closer. He wasn’t close enough. “Der!” he choked out.

Derek was pressing him into the tree with a hand under his ass, helping him to grind into the increasingly needy rutting. Derek's other hand slipped down to Stiles' jeans and undid his zip, then boldly stroked him through his briefs.

He cried out, his dick too confined behind the material, twitching and trying to get to Derek’s teasing fingers. The stroking disappeared to the sound of another zipper.

Stiles looked down and his mouth watered at the sight. Derek’s dick was framed by his open jeans but hidden by his underwear. While he watched, Derek pulled the elastic down slowly, revealing an uncut head weeping precum down a throbbing veined shaft. Derek pulled the material further down and rested it under heavy hanging balls.

When Stiles risked looking him in the eye, Derek’s were shining blue and he couldn’t look away as he felt Derek’s hands pull his own briefs down and tuck them away the same as his own.

Without breaking their gaze, Derek picked up Stiles’ hand and placed it on the head of his dick.

Stiles immediately closed his fingers around Derek’s length and groaned loudly as Derek shut his eyes and fell forward into him.

Their groins met, and Stiles opened his hand, leaving his fingers there, as they started to rock against each other.

It was wet and heavy and hard and slick, and Stiles was going to come incredibly fast with the friction and knowledge his dick was slicking alongside Derek’s and catching on his foreskin with every thrust.

Derek moved back to kissing Stiles’ mouth, which he was wholeheartedly on board with. He coaxed Derek’s tongue into a twisting dance, and cupped the back of his head with one hand, pulling and tightening his hold way past anything gentle or even caring, tripping right into possessive and demanding. Derek gave in to him, every pull of Stiles’ fingers was answered by growls and Derek opening up under Stiles’ questing, reaching, grasp.

Stiles wished his clothes were gone so he could feel Derek all over him, but it was far too late for that as he sucked into Derek’s mouth with desperation. His blissful moans were swallowed up by a clever mouth. He didn’t stop kissing Derek, breathing harshly through his nose, as he rode the endorphin high of his orgasm, his dick pulsing out over his hand and both of their groins.

After a few more jarring thrusts, Derek groaned and shuddered against him, his own come wetting down Stiles’ thighs and making his jeans stick to him. Derek tried to pull away to breathe. Stiles kept his mouth on him and wouldn’t let go, coaxing him to keep kissing. Derek managed a quick gasp and accepted Stiles’ tongue back in his mouth with an undone groan.

Derek took the lead in the kiss. He managed to gentle the almost frantic mash of their mouths, and after a while Stiles was leaning into a gentle soothing glide of lips against lips, and Derek’s large fingers tracing his cheekbones and jaw.

Derek pulled back with one last soft kiss and opened his eyes. He blinked slowly, his pupils blown wide, lips swollen, and he huffed out a breath. He ran a fingertip under Stiles’ left eye, brushing away tears Stiles didn’t remember shedding, then kissed the fragile skin there, causing Stiles to gasp at the tenderness of the gesture. 

Still in the post-orgasm-mind-melt phase, he blurted out, “So that just happened.”

Derek dropped his head and snorted into Stiles' neck. The sound travelled directly to Stiles’ heart.

Derek started kissing his neck again and stopped over the pulse point, alternating sucking and nipping gently on it. Stiles tipped his head back and Derek rewarded him by licking a stripe up his skin.

Stiles sighed in contentment. “This is good,” he said, his eyes closed as he ran his clean hand over Derek’s back. Derek’s mouth was pulling lovely zinging sensations out of him that made him shiver.

Derek was yet to say anything, but Stiles wasn’t perturbed by it. He was so relaxed and at peace; right where he wanted to be. He ran his fingers through Derek’s hair and tugged a little. Derek reluctantly moved away from the impressive hickey that Stiles assumed he was now sporting.

“Hi,” Stiles stated.

Derek actually seemed a little worried, and God help Stiles’ libido, shy. “Hey.”

“You good?” Stiles asked. He ran his hand over the side of Derek’s face and back into his hair. His hair was so soft and Stiles was a shameless tactile hussy.

“Yeah.” Derek’s slight frown deepened. “Are you okay?”

Stiles sighed. “Yes, so don’t worry that this shouldn’t have happened, okay?”

“But you —”

“Are feeling all kinds of good, so don’t worry, Der.”

Stiles thought it a bit weird that he had to spell it out for him. Surely the joint orgasms were proof enough that a good time had been had by all.

Speaking of which. Stiles grimaced at the mess all over him. He wiped his dirty hand on his jeans.

“Wow, I need to clean up. You need to clean up. We both ... huh.”

Stiles had a moment where he was honestly prideful of the fact he’d made Derek Hale come in his jeans like the teenager Stiles had only just stopped being. He nodded towards the house.

“Shower?”

Derek’s eyes flashed at Stiles question.

Okay, so he hadn’t meant it like Derek had taken it, but now he had images of sharing a shower with a slippery wet naked Derek, and he was totally on board with that idea.

He zipped up carefully, grimacing at the stickiness of his clothes.

“Come on,” he said a bit shakily, and took Derek’s hand after he’d covered himself back up too.

Derek followed Stiles across the yard and up onto the porch. When he paused at the door, Derek was right behind him, allaying his fears. “Your dad’s not home.”

Stiles was very thankful for that.

“Can you read minds?” he asked Derek, only half joking, as he opened the door.

“No. I just know you,” Derek answered. 

Stiles turned to him and smiled. “Yeah, you do, don’t you?”

Derek’s eyes glowed. 

Stiles’ smile got wider.

 

***

 

Sometimes Stiles’ brain was his worst enemy.

It was also his greatest asset, too, so he never really cursed it too much when it kicked into overdrive and gave him anxiety and other fun-filled issues. But right now, Stiles wished it would shut up, take a break, and just be the fuck quiet, so he could enjoy this moment.

He’d invited Derek to shower with him. He wanted to be happy, he had been happy about oh-point-two seconds ago. Until he’d turned from the back door, with Derek close on his heels, and led the way up the hallway.

When they entered the bathroom, Stiles’ body may have been going through the motions; taking off his shirt, turning on the shower, but his mind was whirling along at two-hundred miles an hour. He’d gone from enthusiastically on-board with this situation to slightly panicky. 

Derek had been watching him closely, a slight frown lingering and getting more pronounced by the second. Stiles was very aware Derek was scenting him, smelling rising anxiety and confusion.

Stiles didn’t feel all that good. His stomach had little cramps and his head was heavy.

He jumped when Derek touched his arm.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah, I’m, it’s fine, Der.” Stiles put his hand under the water spray to check the temperature.

Derek gently turned Stiles towards him. “It’s okay, Stiles.”

“I’m sorry, Derek, I didn’t mean to,” he blurted out.

Do what exactly? Use Derek to make himself feel good?

He felt nauseous.

“Stiles, it’s okay,” Derek repeated softly, and stepped back from him, dropping his hands. He cleared his throat and ran his hand through his hair, “I’ll wait for you to finish.” He turned and left the bathroom.

Stiles’ shower was perfunctory and when he sidled into his bedroom with his shirt on and a large towel wrapped around his waist, he couldn’t make eye contact. “Shower’s free,” he mentioned and waited for Derek to leave the room before shutting the door behind him. 

He sat on his bed and slowly tapped his fingers on one knee. He turned both hands over, and did something he hadn’t done for months. He counted his fingers. He knew he wasn’t dreaming. He was sure. Positive. But the concern was always there. Always that little lingering doubt.

He counted his fingers again. 

Nine. Ten. 

Not dreaming. 

Just a fuck up. And that, he always knew for sure.

Stiles shook his head, blinked, and stood, finding a clean pair of jeans and underwear to put on. He had a distant thought that Derek had no clean pants, but didn’t know what to do about that.

Derek’s shower was even shorter than his had been, and all too soon Derek was opening the door and coming into his bedroom, closing the door and sitting down near him on his bed.

The front of Derek’s jeans was damp, so that answered Stiles’ question about clean pants.

Stiles watched him in a detached way, letting Derek catch up one of his hands and hold it in his large warm ones.

“Jesus, Stiles, your hand is freezing!” Derek sounded worried.

Would there ever be a time when Derek wasn’t worried for him? Or worried about him? He must get tired of it; constantly having to care for the invalid.

Scott had been right. Stiles was the invalid. Even now he was fae, he had things wrong with him. 

“Stiles!” Derek waved a hand in front of Stiles’ face.

“Yeah?”

“You’re really starting to worry me, are you okay?”

Stiles made the supreme effort to smile, and focus on Derek’s face. He patted Derek’s hand. “I’m fine,” he stressed. 

Derek was anything other than convinced. 

“Really. Peachy keen. It’s all good.” 

Derek had suspiciously bright eyes.

Stiles’ stomach did a little slippery-slope drop, down into his knees. “Derek, I’m sorry.”

“No, Stiles. Don’t. You were right, what happened wasn’t wrong. It was the timing.”

“Timing?”

Derek ran a finger over Stiles wrist. He was focussing on the movement, doing it again, so Stiles glanced down. Derek was tracing his finger over the shiny slivery scar. He had another one, almost exactly the same size on the other side. Derek flipped his hand over. Stiles watched Derek’s eyes, his eyebrows, his nose, and his turned down mouth, as he traced this scar too. If he took Stiles’ other hand, he’d find two scars on that wrist as well. 

Stiles didn’t bother with them. He never traced them like Derek was doing, never looked at them. There wasn’t any point. He didn’t know why he even had them, the burn mark on his chest had disappeared completely.

“I’ve wanted,” Derek started. He breathed out heavily through his nose. “I should have stopped, but I missed you. I’m sorry.”

Stiles hadn’t anything to say. He’d caused Derek to feel like this. Just by being unable to do the right thing. 

There was the sound of the front door opening and both of them stilled.

“Stiles, you home?” his dad called out. 

Derek raised a questioning eyebrow at Stiles. 

Stiles didn’t answer. 

“Told you, Mel,” his dad said, his voice clearer than it should have been. “He’s never here when I’m not.”

“It can’t be as bad as you say it is, Noah,” Melissa sighed. “I still refuse to believe it.” 

They walked down the hall to the living room, in the opposite direction to Stiles’ bedroom. 

Stiles stood up and moved over to the doorway. It was open slightly, not having fully closed behind Derek. He slowly opened the door wider and quietly walked down the hallway, stopping before the living room.

Derek came up behind him, equally as silent. 

“I told you, he thinks he’s being smart. He hasn’t slept in his own bed since he changed. I checked in on him the first night and he wasn’t there. He waits until he thinks I’m asleep, then he creeps out the window. I’m pretty sure he sleeps up in that damn tree.”

“Okay,” Melissa said, slowly.

“At least Scott sleeps in his own bed and is still human enough to do that! Stiles is so different now, it’s like I’m looking at a complete stranger half of the time!”

Stiles’ dad was obviously working himself up for a big heart-to-heart spill with Melissa. 

Stiles should move away, leave the house. But a larger part of him wanted to hear this. 

“How did you cope when you found out about Scott?”

“It was a big shock.” Melissa paused, gathering her thoughts. “But then, I didn’t know about all of the supernatural things like we do now.”

“Didn’t make much difference to me,” Stiles’ dad said, grimly.

“I suppose not,” Melissa agreed.

“Mel, I just,” Stiles’ dad sighed long and low. “I swear, it isn’t Stiles.”

Stiles would have backed into the wall if Derek hadn’t caught him. He was trying not to breathe, or have a heartbeat. If his heart wasn’t beating, it couldn’t hurt.

Melissa had made a disagreeing noise at the comment, but Stiles’ dad wasn’t listening. It was his time to talk.

“He’s so different, Mel. When we spend time together, I can’t understand him. He told me he doesn’t want to go back to school. How is he going to have any kind of life without an education?”

“Noah, remember, he’s still going through so much, school may have to be put on hold for a while longer. Give him time. It’s been only just over a month since he came home.”

“You didn’t hear him. I just don’t understand any of this! Do you know, he went out and purposely changed himself? My son decided to be a, a creature.”

Stiles managed a few steps backwards down the hallway without stumbling over his feet. 

Derek’s eyes flashed blue as he cast a furious look at the living room.

Melissa took her time to answer. “Noah, so help me, if you think your son, or mine, or any of their friends have less humanity because of what they are, I will walk out of here and let you deal with this on your own!”

“I don’t know what I think! Do I wish none of this was real? Hell, yes! You talk about humanity? My son tells me he can’t ever have a normal human life. So what’s left of my son, then? Is he still my son? I don’t even know.”

“You have to know, Noah. Stiles is still your son.”

“Is he, really? My heart tells me to love Stiles, to help him, to take care of him. My head tells me that he isn’t my son anymore and I can’t change that. I feel it every time he acts weirdly, or when he shows that damn scary face of his.”

Stiles’ breath hitched. He placed a hand on the wall for support. There was a sudden roaring in his ears. When Derek took a step towards him, he shook his head once, then wished he hadn’t because it made the roaring worse.

He carefully took a step, still holding onto the wall. He kept going, down the hall, past his bedroom and to his right, coming into the back hallway. He stopped near the back door, opened it, and went outside. 

“Stiles,” Derek whispered softly from behind him.

Stiles stumbled down off the porch, Derek catching him by the shoulder. He held Stiles tight as he swayed and blinked. 

“I knew, Der, I knew. Not his son. He hates me, Der. I’m sorry, so sorry.”

Stiles sagged into Derek’s chest as he was wrapped up in a tight embrace. Derek held him until he was able to stand on his own, and then continued to hold him until he could breathe with only occasional shortness of breath.

Stiles sniffled and wiped his hand across his eyes and face, stepping away fully. He hugged himself as he lifted his gaze to Derek.

Derek looked murderous, and Stiles was taken aback. Was Derek that angry at him? 

“Your dad,” Derek growled, “should know better.”

Stiles then understood who Derek’s fury was directed at. “Derek, no.” It wasn’t his dad’s fault. 

Suddenly Derek stiffened and turned to sniff the air. “What is that?!”

Stiles didn’t smell anything. His fae abilities didn’t include a super sniffer.

“What is it?” he asked, casting an eye around the yard as Derek turned in a slow circle, still scenting the air.

Derek snarled, “Someone’s been here quite recently.”

“Someone we don’t know?” Stiles asked, then inhaled quickly, remembering.

“What?” Derek turned to him.

“Someone was here one night, weeks ago.” Stiles’ heart started to beat faster. “How did I forget that?”

“Did you recognise them? Did they say anything?” Derek seemed like he was about to wolf out into his beta form at any second.

Stiles was feeling a growing sense of dread. “No, I didn’t, and then they were gone when I got down. I was up in my tree.” He pointed to the topmost branches. 

Derek raised an eyebrow at this, but let it go. “What were they doing?” He was still checking out the yard, eyes constantly moving.

“They were watching the house.” Stiles walked a little distance away from the porch, and Derek followed him. “What did you smell just then?” he asked Derek.

Derek’s top lip curled up in distaste. “It was rotten and ripe. I know it, but I can’t place it.”

Stiles rubbed at his arms. “Maybe we should go back inside?”

He really didn’t want to. His dad and Melissa were still in there.

“We don’t need to,” Derek answered. “You could come over to mine?”

Stiles turned to him to give him a grateful 'hell, yes', when a gentle breeze blew past them. Stiles got a whiff of the smell this time and wobbled, choking on the memory of it.

Ripe vomit. Bad curry, last smelt in the boot of a car.

He turned around and around, trying to find where the smell was coming from. It clung to him. It was in his hair, on his clothes, his skin.

Derek yelled something, and the back door slammed open a few moments later. Stiles’ dad and Melissa were there on the back porch, and Stiles stumbled away as his dad jumped down onto the grass and reached for him. 

“No!” Stiles cried out, and put his hands up to his face to shield himself. He was shaking.

Derek tried to reach him, but Stiles danced back, faster than him.

He was taking large sharp breaths and couldn’t stop. “It’s, it’s —”

“What?”

“Boot, car,” he wheezed out, and shut his eyes against the dots that were obscuring his vision. 

There was a shocked silence, and then his dad asked, slowly and quietly, “Stiles, are you talking about your kidnapping?”

A desperate noise forced its way out of his throat, and Stiles crumpled at the knees onto the grass. The afternoon sunlight was hotter than it should have been against his skin as he leant over, trying to breathe. 

Derek tried again to move to him, but Stiles stood up just as quickly as he’d fallen, gave a strangled, “No!” and held out his hands to ward him off.

He felt the sunlight tingle across his open palms. He tried to make sense of the jumble of thoughts in his head.

"One,” he said softly, and ticked off a finger. “Two, three.”

Melissa said, “Oh, Stiles,” in a heartbroken tone. 

He kept going. He got all the way up to ten.

“Stiles, please.” Derek was holding his hand out to him. 

Stiles cocked his head and his glamour slid off.

His dad sucked in a devastated breath.

Stiles blinked and tears rushed up, threaten to spill over. He closed his eyes and willed everything away. All his hurt, all his pain. All his guilt. He wanted it gone.

When he opened his eyes his breathing was back to normal.

When he spoke, he was quiet, withdrawn.

“You don’t see me, do you, Dad?”

He wanted his dad to look at him properly just once, without cringing, without fear, without despair.

“I, can we just, can you change back, please?” his dad asked. He kept his eyes averted.

Stiles finally broke. There wasn’t enough to hold himself together.

An idea came to him. A way to help himself. To be free of the hurt. 

He must have given away his intentions somehow, because Derek yelled out, “Stiles! No!”

Stiles turned his mind into the sunlight and pulled himself through it, just as Derek leapt towards him. 

 

***


	14. The Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fae Stiles in his element.

Stiles arrived at the Nemeton almost as soon as he thought of it. He popped right into the sunlit space on top of the stump.

He opened himself up to the Nemeton and with a little magical pull and twist, he cloaked the old grove. He twined the earth’s magic to mislead footsteps, he warped the light so that no stray sight could penetrate, and tuned the air so no ear could hear, or nose could smell. 

When there was no way for anyone to find the Nemeton and therefor himself, Stiles fell across the stump and dipped down deep into its core. He let it wrap around him. 

The grove and the forest merged with him until Stiles Stilinski fell away and he was himself no more. 

 

***

 

He was watching the passing of time; light, dark, days, nights. They were moving and he moved with them, sometimes walking through the forest, sometimes running. Sometimes he was still, so still the animals forgot he was there and came close to him. Even if he moved they had no fear of him because he was the trees, the earth, the air, the sky, the sun, the rain, and the lightning. He slept when he was tired, he ate the sunlight and earth energy, and drank the rain in its many forms; dew, mist and creek, and the rivers small and wide. 

He watched the flowers bud, the leaves become heavier and the plants push their way through the ground towards the sky. He could feel the movement of the earth, the growth and death of everything in his forest. He watched the deer birth their fawns and welcomed a new wobbly legged bright-eyed one who nudged his outstretched hand in search of milk and connection. 

He climbed the tallest trees. He swayed with the wind in their topmost branches, through the heaviest of lightning storms and the lightest of airy breezes.

He laughed, long and free, the first time the song of the stars became audible. He watched them dance across clear bright night skies and into early mornings. 

The weather got warmer and he rejoiced to feel the sunlight heating through him, deeper and stronger as the days got longer. 

He maintained the magic that concealed the Tree and remained hidden from all those on two legs who trampled heavily on the land. They were not of the forest and not to be trusted. There was sometimes a pulling on the Tree’s boundaries. He marked the ones who came to disturb and made sure to send them further away each time. He laughed at their fumbling attempts and if his glee reached their ears, it only made him laugh longer when they flinched and called out to each other when they got separated by his tricks. 

There was one who was slyer than the rest and got the closest more than once. This one was always alone and smelt of bad things, bad memories that made him hiss and want to attack. Instead, he coaxed the bad-smelling one into falling off a short cliff. They’d been hurt and angry, but had stayed away from then on, and he’d been glad and relieved. 

There was a wolf pack that howled at night, with a coyote. He’d never seen them, only listened to their howls and tracked them by using earth magic. They had slippery magic of their own; he could never catch a glimpse of them and it intrigued him. He only ever found the annoying two-legs. 

The howls sounded like they were for him. He wanted to call back but remained silent, listening to them ranging over the forest. It confused him that the pack would call for him, because they were strangers. He must be mistaken.

The wolves had eventually moved on as the days got warmer, their howls stopped, and he was saddened by their loss. Even the coyote went. The nights were silent and he missed their comforting mournful cries. 

He was high up in one of his sleep trees one very warm night, swinging upside down by his legs, when a lone wolf’s howl echoed over the mountain ridge.

He dropped down to the ground and raced through the forest, trying to find it. He changed direction as it called again. He was sure it was one of the wolves from the pack and it called for him. He could feel the pull of its howl as he jumped over and around obstacles, flitting along, making no noise. He almost called back, although he couldn’t howl like a wolf, but he stayed silent. Even though his blood rushed faster the closer he got, he was also wary of danger. 

He came to the edge of his forest and stopped, stood very still, listened and watched. He’d been called to the aspen trees. He loved these trees, but never went there during the day. Something made him stay away. Only rarely and at night did he slink into their reach and under their creaking canopy.

The howl came again, closer this time, and he stepped quickly into the aspens and followed. By the time he glimpsed the wolf for the first time, it was pre-dawn. It was sniffing around one of the flat areas and whimpering like it was in pain, although no injury was apparent. It was a gloriously strong animal, with deep black fur from nose to tail. He watched it, titling his head, as it curled around and around and finally lay itself down close to a tree. 

He found himself wanting to go closer, which was strange. He rarely interacted with animals, content to just watch and observe. He never pulled away from the more curious or brave among them though, and could walk through a herd or run past flocks and none reacted in fear, for he was the wind and sun to them.

Yet this wolf was different. He could feel it; the pull was stronger now. He was curious enough to move towards it. He made no sound and was almost close enough to touch when it opened its eyes. 

The wolf jumped up, but didn’t growl or make any sign of aggression. It made aborted moves towards him; a raised paw that it kept putting back down. Its tail was wagging, but tucked under its rear. A desperate whine was coming from between closed lips and its eyes kept glancing up to lock with his own before darting away.

Its behaviour was strange and made him even more curious. Wolves were incredibly smart and perhaps that was why it was reacting to him differently than the other animals did. As he watched, it started to change shape and suddenly there was no wolf, but a two-legs standing there.

He yelped and sprung backwards as the two-legs reached out towards him. It cried out as he turned and ran away. He could hear it running after him, calling, and he ran faster until he was back at the Tree.

The wolf was a trickster. It had tricked him. He would stay away from now on. 

 

***

 

He hadn’t stayed away. 

He found the wolf too compelling. It stayed in the aspen forest for the next day while he watched it, bending air and light to remain invisible to its keen senses. 

It didn’t change into a two-legs again, though now its trick was revealed he could see the two-legs within the wolf, the wolf within the two-legs. There was a blending until the two were almost indistinguishable. Such clever magic. He was reluctantly impressed.

The wolf ventured out into his forest, howling, howling, listening. Calling for him. It took a great strength of will not to show himself to the wolf. It missed him. 

After the sun had risen and set more than once, he found he didn’t want to leave the wolf’s side, although it didn’t know he was there. He was still very wary. Wolf’s man-shape had scared him badly. Did it have other tricks it was waiting to use on him?

Wolf trail marked and scented its way through the forest, making sure to howl only at night. If wolf’s howls got progressively sadder as each night wore on, he ignored the pull on his heart to make wolf feel better by showing himself. 

Tonight, wolf hadn’t howled, instead it walked with its head down, back towards the aspen forest. Wolf hadn’t eaten, though it had drunk water while it was searching. Perhaps it was going somewhere to hunt? He wouldn’t have minded if wolf had hunted in his forest. Animals hunted every night and day, and he would have liked to follow along. But it was not to be, apparently. He was worried as wolf went away, and kept close. He only stopped following when wolf crossed the last long flat area before the aspen forest ended. 

He must have made a sound because wolf stopped and turned around, its ears pricking up. Wolf must have seen him, too, though he didn’t know how, as he was still shrouded in silence and darkness, but wolf’s eyes found his and they watched each other for a long time before he blinked, and wolf tilted its head one way then the other. It stretched and shivered and its thick black ruff shook with the movement. He wanted to sink his fingers into it. 

Wolf turned around and padded away through the trees until it was lost to sight. 

He stayed there and waited for wolf through the night and into the next one.

 

***

 

He was sad because wolf hadn’t come back. Eventually he’d left the aspen forest to go back to his Tree, but nothing was the same for him. There was no joy in his days, in his nights. He understood wolf’s howling now because his own heart was howling back. 

The moon was coming back to full when wolf howled again. He was drinking from one of the many long streams and creeping around in the shallows, trying to tickle the little shiny fish with his quick fingers. When wolf howled he cupped his hands around his mouth, scattering water droplets, and made his best wolf-howl impersonation. It held nowhere near the magic of his wolf’s voice, but it would do. 

Wolf answer immediately and it was filled with a happiness he could feel lift his own heart. He jumped up the bank of the river and raced towards where wolf was. 

When they met they tumbled into one another in a mass of fur and skin. Limbs were tangled and he was laughing. Wolf was grinning and whuffing at him and licking his face and hands. He rubbed his hands over wolf’s fur and pulled gently at his ears. He rubbed his face into wolf’s muzzle. 

Wolf caught his gaze. There was no threat or pressure to look away. The gray wolf eyes changed to glowing blue.

He knew this wolf, knew him so well, but also didn’t, which wasn’t entirely right. But the knowledge to make sense of things was hidden in the confusing foggy part of him that he didn’t access. He didn’t care.

He had his wolf, they were together now, and all was well.

 

***

 

He and wolf spent many days and nights in the forest together before he caught on that wolf was trying to lead him back to the aspen forest. He’d held his ground though, even going so far as to run back along the ridge line they’d been trekking on, going in the opposite direction just to make a point that wolf couldn’t make him do anything he didn’t want to. 

He was curious though. What was so important in the aspen forest? 

He still had an aversion to it and would never go there during the day, even with wolf. Sometimes wolf would leave him on the edge of it, whuffing at him to follow, but he always refused. 

The first time wolf left him, he’d had to hold in his displeasure. It had been his decision to stay, but he didn’t know why wolf chose to leave. When wolf came back he’d smelt strange and off-putting, fur holding a strong scent that made him feel on edge. Wolf had to roll in sweet grass to rid himself of it. 

As enough time went on, he found himself more and more curious as to where wolf went when he entered the aspens. But he still didn’t venture into the aspen forest unless it was night, and only for short periods of time. Wolf was always very quiet and withdrawn when they left it and came back to the older forest.

He took wolf to the Tree.

The first time, wolf had stayed on the edges of the grove until invited in. He was happy that wolf knew he was in a special place, but he wasn’t surprised because wolf knew him. Sometimes, he thought, better than he knew himself. 

Today he stood at the edge of the aspen forest, upset wolf was leaving again, because Wolf had only just come back from last time. Wolf surprised him by taking his hand and tugging him until he was under the aspen canopy. He surprised himself by allowing it. Wolf dropped his hand and licked it. 

He rubbed the soft silky part behind wolf’s ear that always made wolf close his eyes and shake his head. He laughed as wolf did just that but grew silent as he followed wolf further into the forest.

Being there in daylight was strange. The trees sounded different to him than during the night; whispering and singing to him. Birds were winging their way through the upper branches, causing the sunlight to flicker, changing with their racing shadows. 

Wolf had to push him to keep him moving when he continued to stop to touch one tree after another. He found he knew these trees, they were his friends.

Why hadn’t he known this before?

He could feel memories pushing at him, trying to get past the foggy block in his mind. He ignored them and stopped touching anything.

He followed along behind wolf, both of them silent and sure footed.

Wolf stopped and pricked up his ears, stepping through the trees to cross the last walking trail. 

He blinked as the name for the long flat winding area came into his head. More and more he was remembering names of things. The longer he stayed with wolf, the more clear things became.

He didn’t want to tread on the walking trail, so he quickly sunlight-leaped to wolf’s side, making wolf startle. 

Wolf bumped against his side and walked further towards the edge of the forest. He could feel the air changing and he stopped. He leant against a tree and sent his awareness into the air to scout out the path ahead and find where wolf was taking him. Wolf had watched him do this a few times, but didn’t understand what he was doing. He had no way to explain it as he never spoke out loud. He communicated well enough with wolf that he had no need, nor want, to do so.

He travelled through the trees, flowing along a little breeze that swept down and swirled around a large cut through the earth that marked the end of the forest. The cut was a wound and made him cringe as the wind bore him along it. 

He flew with an updraft and was over the trees, bumping into a large human-made construction that made his body shudder where it listed against the tree.

He could feel wolf licking his hand and wrist so he flew back to his body and blinked his eyes. He rubbed a hand across them. Air-flying wasn’t as easy as tree-listening or sunlight-leaping, it made him feel tired and floaty inside his own body. He never used it as much as his other magic because of that. Also, wolf got anxious when he did it.

He wasn’t happy with wolf. He knew now that wolf was taking him towards people. He didn’t want to go there. But wolf was so hopeful that even though he was annoyed, he followed wolf to the earth-wound.

Wolf listened carefully, his ears flicking back and forth, before jumping down to pad across the wound. Wolf whuffed quietly at him, but he would go no further. 

The wound was old but it still held the crying of its making. Trees had died for its creation and he would not listen to their ghosts by walking among them. The earth wanted to grow over and cover its scar, but humans kept it clear and empty, pulling up any green that grew. It was a bad place and he didn’t like it. 

Wolf’s eyes were sad but resigned as he turned and scampered up the other side of the wound and disappeared from view. 

He was immediately lost without wolf; standing so close to the earth-wound and near to where humans were. He faded into the aspen forest, but kept close enough to see wolf return.

It was some time before wolf was standing at the top of the wound on the opposite side. Wolf whuffed softly and waited. Feeling less brave than he normally did, he crept out from under the aspen trees so wolf would know he was still there. Wolf wagged his tail and then looked back over his shoulder. 

There was a human making his way through the bushes towards wolf! 

He didn’t know what to do. He was waiting for wolf to run towards him but wolf stayed still, watching the human, tail still wagging.

He wrapped the sunlight around himself to hide, but stayed where wolf could smell him. He was trembling, but he couldn’t leave wolf to a human. Why wasn’t wolf running away?

The human came up and stood beside wolf.

Wolf turned towards the aspen forest and whuffed in annoyance and disappointment at him for hiding. He didn’t care. Wolf was standing near a human and was unafraid. Was this where wolf went every time he left? He guessed that made sense. He forgot that wolf was also a man and would spend time with humans.

The human was looking back and forth between wolf and the edge of the aspen forest. He seemed very sad.

Wolf whuffed again and this time added a little growl. It had been ages since wolf had growled at him, the last being when he dunked wolf into the large lake for fun. 

He blinked in surprise. Wolf wanted him to show himself to the man? No. He wouldn’t. He wanted to leave. But he couldn’t leave wolf. He didn’t want wolf to be over there.

He made a little noise, one that meant he wanted wolf to come back to him. Wolf’s ears picked up on it, but he’d been too quiet for the man to hear him. 

Wolf shook his head and growled again. It wasn’t an angry growl, more of an exasperated sound, telling him to hurry up and do what wolf wanted. But he couldn’t.

He made his call sound again, louder this time. 

The man startled and focused on where the noise had come from but he was too well hidden, even out in the light, away from the trees. Wolf ignored his call. 

He tried again, not liking how desperate he sounded, but he needed wolf to come back to him.

Wolf got tired of waiting and bumped himself up against the man’s leg. It was such a startling move he made an involuntary noise of distress at seeing it.

The man cast a glance his way again and then down at wolf. The man even had the nerve to rest a hand on wolf’s back.

He tried to growl like wolf did, but it came out more like an angry hissing warning noise.

The man pulled his hand back very quickly and stared again at where he was standing. 

Wolf was smiling a bit, but at what he didn’t know. He couldn’t understand what wolf was doing. This was dangerous.

Wolf bumped the man again and then whuffed over the earth-wound at him. 

He called out to wolf once more, quietly, pleading, but wolf turned his back on him and walked away with the human following him!

He cried out loud. No! Wolf must come back with him! Wolf was his!

He did then what wolf wanted him to do; he unwrapped himself from within the sunlight and called loud and clear to wolf.

Wolf turned around at the same time the man did. Wolf wagged his tail.

He called to wolf again, and held out his hands. 

The man staggered a bit, and cried, “Stiles!”

The sound of that name was like being hit in the face. He flinched and stepped backwards.

“Stiles, wait!” the man called to him.

He called out for wolf. He opened up his hand and made a grabby motion towards him, which wolf finally reacted to, scrambling down the side of the wound and running across it. Wolf quickly got up the side where he was waiting. He wrapped his arms around wolf and buried his face in neck fur as the man kept calling to him, over and over; Stiles, Stiles! 

He knew it was his name. He would not listen. He stood up and, without looking back at the man who was crying now, motioned for wolf and him to go back into the forest. 

The man made a sudden movement, sliding down the side of the earth-wound, landing harshly and crying out in pain.

Wolf bounded down to the man.

As he watched, wolf changed, and then there was no longer his lovely wolf, but the man with the wolf-dark hair. He’d witnessed it before, but wanted to ignore it. His wolf was beautiful and his; the man belonged to the human world where he would not go.

The man who’d called his name was desperate now, ignoring the leg injury and trying to get up, to come closer.

His wolf-man stared at him, then turned to help the man. 

He cried out in anger and frustration at his wolf turning away from him. For this man!

He hissed at them both, and sunlight-leapt away from his heartbreak. 

He ignored wolf when he came back to the forest later on when it was dark. He could hear wolf howling for him; sorry, sorry, sorry, in every note. 

He climbed up a redwood, until he was so high wolf would never find him, and the world was so tiny it became insignificant. Then he blocked his ears to wolf’s howls that floated up to him even at this distance and let himself sink into the redwoods’ dreaming.

 

***

 

He went searching for wolf in the end. He couldn’t stay away. Wolf was the other part of him. 

He found wolf in a very sad state, whimpering, and obviously distraught. He sat down beside wolf and made soothing noises and rubbed his hands all over wolf’s flank and head, tugging at ears until wolf turned over, showing his belly. 

He sucked in a breath. This was a display of submission and also meant apology of wrong doing. He gently rubbed the skin on wolf’s belly and between his front legs until wolf quieted down and then he lay down beside wolf.

When they had been staring at each other for far too long for a normal wolf to feel comfortable, he tipped his head back, exposing his neck and throat, showing how sorry he was, too. 

Wolf whuffed at him and licked up his neck and over his jaw. Wolf’s tongue went into his ear, which wolf did on purpose and he made a squeaking noise of discomfort at the drool, but didn’t move.

Wolf laughed at him by opening his mouth and huffing out air. 

He wrapped his arms around wolf’s midsection and rolled over the top, wrestling with wolf before he got up, laughing, and made wolf chase him through the trees.

Wolf ran quickly but not as quickly as him, though they were almost evenly matched. Whenever wolf got too close, he cheated by sunlight-leaping away and waiting for wolf to find him again. 

 

***

 

Wolf took him back to the earth-wound a few more times and he allowed it, although he had no idea why as it had been a bad experience. He knew now that the something he’d thought was in the aspen forest was actually in the human place and was to do with the man who’d called out to him. Called him Stiles.

Once, after wolf had gone over the wound and disappeared, he went closer.

Wolf wasn’t around to be bossy and the man hadn’t come back since the first time.

He picked a spot on the other side of the earth-wound and before he could talk himself out of it, he sunlight-leapt over. He had to take deep breaths being away from his forests for the first time, but he could always leap right back if he had to. 

He peered through the bushes and trees where wolf always went, and walked through the small gap. He was standing inside the bushes, under the shade of trees.

This place was familiar to him.

His eyes were drawn to the huge sycamore tree that grew in the open grassy area not very far from the human place.

The house. Home. 

He wouldn’t go any further and made sure he was faded into the surrounding nature, but he couldn’t walk away either. 

The back door to the house opened and his wolf-man came out. 

He stayed very still so he wouldn’t be spotted. He didn’t want wolf to know he was there. He was afraid wolf would ask him to step into the human world. He couldn’t do that. 

His wolf-man was looking right at where he was hiding, but obviously didn’t know he was there for certain, as he called out, “Stiles?” just once.

Wolf hadn’t used his human voice since the first time he’d chased him through the forest. Hearing it now made the block in his mind waver and almost fall. He shoved it back into place and as soon as wolf had turned to go back inside, he sunlight-leapt back to the forest. 

He ended up at the grove. He’d gone further than he’d been picturing, but he was shaken and drawn to the comfort of the Tree.

He lay down on the stump and splayed out his hands, soaking up the Tree’s presence, and at the same time, strengthened the illusions that ran across the grove’s boundaries. 

He was slightly cross with himself for not remembering wolf would immediately smell where’d he’d been.

 

***

 

He was laughing as he fell onto his back. He’d been running when wolf had changed the game. 

Wolf had been different since the last foray to the man’s home, needing to have almost constant contact. That wasn’t a hardship because he liked wolf’s presence near him, but it made it difficult when they walked or ran. 

When they slept, they were curled around each other, faces pressed up against the other’s side or back or neck. For wolf, he assumed it was the smell of him and his warmth. For him, it was the comfort of touch and scent, and recently the image of wolf-man, that made him snuggle closer.

Right now, wolf had tackled him and rolled with him until they ended up almost too winded to move.

Wolf was on top of him, tongue hanging out in a grin. 

He’d been contemplating wolf-man all morning, and had blurry and confusing images running through his brain. This was wolf, but also the man, lying on top of him. He groaned at how wolf’s body pressed against his own. He gently rocked up.

This had occurred on a few other occasions, wolf and him getting a bit too excited, but it was innocent and nothing ever came of it. 

Wolf stilled, mouth snapping shut. Wolf didn’t move away, though.

He rolled his hips upwards again, staring into his wolf’s eyes, curious as to what wolf would do. The man’s eyes overlaid his wolf’s. Green, so very green, sparkly blue, wolf gray. All jumbled up in his brain. 

Wolf’s head tilted sideways, hips minutely pushing downwards.

He groaned again. Today he liked this. He wanted his wolf closer. He wanted more.

Wolf pushed downwards again, whining softly.

They started a slow grinding that made him sigh. He wanted these pants gone, they were in the way. He reached down to remove them, and his hand wandered over hot fur and hardness.

Suddenly, his wolf changed; and the man inside the wolf was lying on top of him.

Fur gone, claws gone, still wolf; only not.

He was a little bit taken aback, but he’d known his wolf was more than just wolf, and now his wolf’s human face was up close. The green eyes were shocked wide and perfect. 

His hand brushed against wolf-man’s stomach as he breathed out. He forgot about his pants as he rocked upwards again. 

It didn’t matter; wolf, man, they were his.

His wolf-man groaned, and he liked the sound of it, wanted to make him do it again. He wrapped his legs around him in encouragement. All of his wolf-man was skin and hot and hard muscles, and he wanted to feel all of it all at once.

In seconds, his wolf-man’s face was against his neck, growling softly.

He titled his head to the side to feel the scratch of tiny facial hairs with the smoothness of wolf-man’s lips on his skin. He made noises of his own and closed his eyes.

He really liked this.

Wolf-man stopped. Pulled up, and held himself apart.

“Stiles, wait.”

He paused. He kept his legs on his wolf’s hips but didn’t want to do anything that wasn’t reciprocated. 

“Stiles?”

He blinked.

That was his name. He had a name. 

“What are we doing?”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t know why his wolf wanted him to use words now. Not now. Now should be about moving together until everything fit just right.

“Stiles, talk to me. Please.”

He sighed, but if his wolf wanted him to use words, he would.

“Feels … good.”

His voice had shaped sounds and laughter, so it wasn’t unused, but hearing words come from out of his mouth was a bit shocking to him. 

The block in his mind wobbled.

“Yeah, it does, it feels real good. But, why?”

He was confused. “Feels good.”

Wolf looked down at him. “Stiles, who am I?”

Wolf’s eyebrows were knitting together, and he recognized that look, he was very familiar with that look. 

The mind block cracked.

“My wolf!”

That was an easy question to answer. Silly wolf, not knowing. How could he not know?

“Your wolf?”

“Yes. Mine! My wolf.” He raised both hands and ran them down the sides of wolf’s face, then up into his hair.

Wolf smiled gently down at him.

He smiled back, and lifted up his head to rub their noses together.

Wolf sighed. “Yeah, yours. Your wolf. But you don’t really get what that means. Not with how you are right now. Stiles, what’s my name?”

“My wolf.”

Now wolf was being very silly, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to play this game anymore. 

“My name, Stiles, my name. Call me by my name.”

He wanted to stop this, now.

The mind block shifted, and he tried to shore it up.

He looked away.

“Don’t do that, don’t retreat on me. Use my name, Stiles. Come on. Come back. Tell me my name.”

He tried to scramble out from under wolf, but was held firmly by his shoulders. He stilled and stared up at wolf, not sure what to do. He wanted to run, but his wolf looked so defeated. It hurt his heart, and he couldn’t leave. 

He touched wolf between the eyes, stroked the furrowed brow. “Shhh,” he whispered, wanting wolf to feel better.

Wolf's forehead rested against his, and wolf whispered, sadly, “Stiles, please. Come back to me.”

The words reverberated inside him.

He carded fingers through wolf’s hair until wolf looked at him once more. Wolf’s eyes were so sad.

He was hurting his wolf.

A tear welled up and slipped down his cheek. Wolf thumbed it away and leant down.

Lips pressed softly against the skin underneath his eye.

The mind block broke and fell down.

Everything that had been missing came rushing back all at once, and he groaned at the massive headache that came with remembering. 

“Derek!” Stiles gasped. He raised a hand to cover his eyes. “Derek.”

Derek sighed in relief above him.

Stiles dropped his hand and squinted up at him. “Oh, God. I’m sorry.”

Saying sorry didn’t even begin to make up for what he’d done.

“I did it, didn’t I? I left. I was okay with it. How long was I gone? You followed me? You stayed with me? Holy crap, I’m sorry. Fuck!”

His head hurt. His chest hurt. 

Derek moved off of him, and Stiles was grateful for it because he’d almost used Derek again. What was wrong with him that even when he wasn’t in his right mind, he still wanted to take advantage?

“Stiles, follow my breathing.” Derek placed one of Stiles’ hands on his chest so he could feel the in and out of each breath. 

Stiles focused on that, shutting his eyes because this headache was huge.

“Better?” Derek asked finally.

“Yeah,” Stiles gritted out.

While a panic attack hadn’t eventuated, every word hurt his head. He opened his eyes before Derek could ask him how he was. The headache would pass.

“You okay?”

Stiles sighed internally. One day, Derek wouldn’t have to ask him because he'd stop fucking things up. 

“Me?! Are you? I’m so sorry!” Stiles ignored the pain he was in.

“You’ve said that, there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Stiles was seriously beginning to suspect that Derek’s martyr complex wasn’t healthy when paired with his own penchant for self-destructiveness.

“Are you kidding me? I just, I was,” he gestured between the two of them. “You don’t want that.”

“Don’t I?” Derek mumbled. “Look, Stiles, don’t worry about it, you and I are fine. When you’re ready to work things out, we’ll talk.”

“Work things out? What?” His headache was mucking with his hearing.

“You’re just not there right now.”

“Why do I feel like I’m missing something here?” He couldn’t help but press a knuckle to the corner of one eye to try to stop the throbbing.

“You are, but it’s okay. Because we have time, and I know enough for the both of us. So for now, just let this go.” 

Stiles said nothing, but turned his head slowly, ever so slowly, to stare at Derek in disbelief. He tried to ignore the fact that Derek was lying next to him completely naked and apparently very unconcerned by that fact.

Derek shook his head at him. “Trust me and let it go. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Okay.” Stiles would let it go because his head was about to explode. “How long have we been out here?”

“Just under four months.”

Stiles groaned and used his reaction to the information as an excuse to rub at his forehead. “How's my dad?” 

“I’ve kept him informed. Everyone knows you’re alright,” Derek explained.

“Ah, the house visits.” It made sense now. “Is he okay from his fall?”

Stiles really wanted to ask if his dad hated him still. 

Derek touched his shoulder, and Stiles dropped his hands from his head reluctantly.

“From the moment you left your dad was completely gutted, honestly.”

“I find that very hard to imagine,” Stiles disagreed, flatly. He was still too emotionally hurt to be graceful about his anger.

“You overheard him letting off steam, not his true feelings, Stiles.”

“Uh-huh. I just want to make sure he’s okay, so is he?” 

Derek sighed. “You’re so stubborn, just like your dad. He twisted his ankle, but apart from beating himself up over the way things were left between you two, he’s doing alright.”

Stiles was relieved to hear his dad’s injury wasn’t too bad. He ignored the rest of what Derek told him. His dad had hurt him deeply and it was going to take more than Derek saying his dad was remorseful to have him believe it.

He sat up slowly, feeling faint. He covered it up with an exaggerated arm stretch. His dad’s injury made him remember something else and he sucked in a sharp breath.

“The man, who abducted me —” 

He was going to say more, but Derek cut in as he sat up, making Stiles avert his eyes as certain parts of Derek swayed with his movements.

“Yeah, when you told us he’d been around the house, you can imagine what happened. Your dad got a patrol on the street and went back through the evidence to figure out who the guy is. He still doesn’t come up in any data base though.”

“He’s got magic."

“How do you know that?” Derek asked, curious.

“He was trying to get to the Nemeton. I didn’t remember who he was at the time, but he stopped after he got injured. I’m pretty sure he was using magic to get as close as he did.”

Stiles couldn’t hide his feelings about what he’d done. There was a cold sense of fulfillment that settled in his gut when he recalled tricking the man into falling off the cliff.

“The guy wants to find the Nemeton?” Derek asked in a weird tone. 

“Yeah,” Stiles answered slowly. 

“Hmmm. You sure?”

“You doubting me?”

“No. I guess not,” Derek answered, reservedly. “Why don’t you tell your dad?” he asked.

Stiles’ headache was slowly edging away, but he winced and rubbed at his face because of Derek’s question. “Um, no,” he said. “Not gonna happen.”

“Stiles, you guys really need to talk.”

“No. I’m good with not talking.”

Derek narrowed his eyes. “Listen to me, Stiles. I’m telling you that your dad has been worried sick about you.”

“I bet.”

“He regrets what he said. It’s been almost four months, Stiles. You need to get your ass over to your house and talk to him.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows at Derek’s demand. He slowly stood up and put his hands on his hips.

“Oh, really? And who’s going to make me do that?”

Derek had stood up at the same time, even more pissed off than Stiles. And Stiles was angry enough that a full-frontal Derek sighting wasn’t enough to curb it.

“I will. You need to stop being such a shit, and try to fix it.”

“You’ll make me, Derek? Maybe you could have before, but not now. So, if you want me to do this, you’re going to have to convince me, because I’m absolutely fine with going back to the way things were just half an hour ago.”

Stiles was secure in having the upper hand here, and angry Derek had the nerve to tell him what to do.

“If you do that, Stiles, you’ll be doing it without me,” Derek said, firm in his answer, though his eyes tightened in worry. 

Stiles flinched.

Derek would leave him? He couldn’t conceive of being without Derek now.

“Why would you do that?” he couldn’t help asking in a small voice. 

Derek’s mouth turned down. “I don’t want to, but, Stiles, you can’t go on as you are.”

Stiles rubbed at his forehead again as his eyes started to sting. 

Derek continued, “I’ve never seen your dad like he is now, Stiles. If he could do anything to take back what he said, he’d do it. He loves you.”

“No, he loves the me that was human.” Stiles was still certain of that fact.

“No, you idiot. He loves you. Stiles, when you left, I thought he was going to end up in hospital, or worse.”

Stiles was shocked. “Why?”

Derek threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Because he lost you again! We had no idea how to get you back. Every day made him loose a little bit of himself. And it was worse than when you were taken because he only had himself to blame this time. His heart broke just as much as yours did.”

Stiles dropped his shoulders and head in defeat. “I didn’t want to do that to him. I just wanted to get away,” he tried to explain.

“You need to tell him, not me, Stiles.”

“And if I don’t, you’ll leave me?” Stiles was pushing on that fact, but he needed to make sure.

Derek stepped closer to him, and Stiles allowed a hug. He rested his head on Derek’s bare shoulder.

“Honestly, it will kill me to do it. But I need to make you do this, you stubborn ass, and it’s the only way to force you to. I’d rather you did it because you wanted to make amends with your dad, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Take what he could get. Stiles had a feeling Derek had been doing that with him for a while now. Stiles didn’t deserve Derek’s concern, or his affection. But somehow he had it. 

“I don’t want things with my dad to be shitty, Derek,” Stiles began, “but I don’t want to give him another reason to act like I’m the Creature from the Blue Lagoon.”

Derek snorted, and when Stiles lifted his head, put his hand on the back of Stiles' neck. “You’re not anything like that, Stiles.”

“Dad looks at me like I am. I’m a monster to him."

“You’ll find your dad has changed. We’ve all had a hand in it.”

“All?” Stiles remembered the people he’d played tricks on. “Oh, God, you guys were trying to find me! Fuck, I’m sorry! I didn’t know, honestly!”

Derek raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Let’s leave that for another time. Yes, all. Some of us more diplomatically than others.” He rested his forehead against Stiles. “Seriously, you need to talk to him.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Stiles conceded. 

He didn’t agree with Derek, but he didn’t want his dad to get sick over him, either. Not could he risk loosing Derek. He wasn’t going to be able to forgive as easily as Derek thought him capable of, though.

Stiles dropped the hug before he got carried away in touching Derek while he had no clothes on, and stepped back.

“I’ll meet my dad,” he agreed. “But I won’t go in the house.” He held up a hand when Derek went to argue. “You’ve given your ultimatum, now I give mine. We can meet in the aspen forest.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Derek frowned.

“I don’t care if it is or not. That’s what I want. He can take it or leave it."

Derek thought for a minute, obviously wanting to say something but holding back. “Okay, I’ll let him know.”

 

***


	15. The Wood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reconciliation. Robbery. Revelations. In that order.

It was three days since Stiles had come back to himself completely.

He was just outside the border of the aspen forest, sitting on the ground with his hands curled into the earth, seeking out Derek’s footsteps. It was harder using the earth than the trees or air, for the ground magic threatened to suck him into its deep mystery and carry him along its energy lines if he stepped too far out of himself. He was still trying though, tiptoeing along the edges of the earth’s consciousness, waiting for the sure footsteps he was so familiar with. The balancing act was helping him to focus on something other than the fact he was meeting his dad shortly on the walking trail.

When he located the footsteps of his dad and Derek he tracked them for a while, uneasy with the promise Derek had extracted from him to make sure he turned up. He wouldn’t break Derek’s trust, but the closer his dad got, the more tense he became.

He had to remember to turn up with his glamour on. He’d hardly worn it the past few months, showing his fae side completely, and hated the thought of having to hide again. But he imagined his dad’s negative reaction to it and the talk breaking down before it started. Glamour it was. Otherwise, he’d end up back where he’d been before. Only this time, he’d be without Derek. 

“Remember Derek,” Stiles muttered to himself.

It was his mantra at the moment. Something to make him focus on not running away if he got too overwhelmed. He also reminded himself he was in control of his life. He had the power to effect change on others, and stop them from doing it to him.

One thing was certain. He wasn’t the same as he’d been when he’d fled into the forest. His time out here had made him grow. He understood himself better than he ever had since this all started.

When Derek and his dad stopped and hadn’t moved for a while, Stiles sunlight-leaped to an area not too far from them. He walked the last part of the way, giving Derek time to tell his dad he was coming, as he’d hear Stiles before he was visible. He had the strongest urge to fade into the nature around him, become invisible and un-trackable, but he didn’t do it. He had to show a little faith or this was all for nothing. And he did want this to work.

Derek had chosen a place just off the walking trail that was closest to their house. Stiles was touched by his obvious concern to make it as easy on his dad’s ankle as possible. He was also a bit annoyed at himself that he hadn’t shown the same concern when picking the forest for their talk. 

Stiles stepped through the trees. 

His dad visibly tensed when he saw him. 

Derek moved forward, and when Stiles locked eyes with him he was able to walk the remaining distance until the three of them were together on the trail. No one spoke. Stiles kept his eyes on Derek. He was sure if he looked at his dad only harsh disappointment would be staring back at him.

When his dad suddenly moved, shifting his weight on his good foot, Stiles risked a peek over at him and kept looking, taking in the differences he could immediately see.

His dad was using Stiles' old cane, right foot lifted slightly off the ground though he wore his normal footwear. It was obvious what the past four months had done. Derek had been right; he was worn down. There was more grey in his hair and extra worry lines on his face. His skin was sallow and his eyes were haunted. 

Stiles’ resolve to remain strong started to crumble. Faced with the visible truth of what Derek had told him, he couldn't deny he desperately wanted to give his dad a hug to relieve some of his pain.

He crossed his arms to stop from reaching out. 

Derek stepped away, trying to be as inconspicuous as he could.

“Stiles,” his dad said, sadly.

Stiles contemplated the ground near his feet. “Dad.”

There was a pause filled with an uncomfortable silence.

Stiles used to be able to read his dad easily. But not anymore. He had no idea how this was going to go. 

“I was such a fool,” his dad stated. “ And I was cruel to you. I’m so very sorry, Stiles.”

Stiles rubbed a hand over his chin. “Okay,” he said. 

There was more silence. 

He flicked his eyes towards Derek, who made an almost imperceptible sign that Stiles took to mean he needed to give a little in return. 

Stiles sighed.

Fine. He could do that.

“I’m sorry that me leaving made you worry about me. But I’m not sorry I left.”

His dad nodded. “That’s understandable. I’m sorry I made you go.”

Stiles shrugged. “You weren’t the only reason.”

“The man who took you,” his dad guessed.

“Yeah, but if I’m being honest, a big part was all me,” Stiles said.

There, that should make Derek happy. That was definitely being open to this reconciliation business.

“You? What do you mean?” his dad asked.

“I needed to go, but I didn’t know it. It was the best thing for me. I know who I am now,” he explained. 

Both his dad and Derek listened intently. Derek was more circumspect about it, but his dad’s full attention was on him. 

Stiles kept going, “You hurt me, Dad.” The sadness and anger he felt weren’t too far away.

His dad took a step forward, and Stiles surprised them both by staying where he was. He could tell his dad wanted to move even closer but he didn’t. Stiles was thankful for that. 

“Stiles, what I said, what you heard … I was such an idiot. I had no idea I was forcing my ideals of who you should be onto you. All I could focus on was what I was missing, not what I had. It took you running away for me to figure that out.” 

Stiles blinked and looked blankly at him, nonplused. His dad wasn’t one for introspection.

“Lydia,” Derek explained. 

Stiles nodded in understanding. His personal superhero had been working her magic.

His dad risked another step forward. “I was completely out of line. I pushed you away, even when you were trying so hard to be what I wanted. I miss you, Stiles.”

“You don’t hate me anymore?” Stiles hated how broken his voice sounded.

His dad froze, and his face crumpled in further understanding, “Oh, God, Stiles. I never hated you. I love you. You’re my son. My brilliant, amazing son.”

It would be so easy for Stiles to let everything that had happened fall away. This is what he wanted. But it was all words. Easy to say. Easy to beg forgiveness. Easy to rip and tear apart. He needed further proof.

He hardened himself for when his dad rejected him again, and let his glamour fall away.

His dad didn’t flinch. Instead he slowly took that last step and reached out his hand, touching Stiles’ face. “My son. My sarcastic, caring, loving, beautiful son. I love you. If I was a good father, I would never have done anything that made you doubt that. Give me a chance to make things right between us again.” His hand moved to Stiles’ shoulder and squeezed. He didn’t let go.

“Okay,” Stiles whispered, nodding. 

His dad pulled him into a hug, and Stiles sucked in a broken breath and hugged him back.

His dad was hugging him while his glamour was off. He never thought that would happen.

Relief washed over him as he caught the familiar smell of coffee, aftershave and the use of too much fabric softener. He breathed harshly against his dad’s shirt, clenching his fists into the material on his back, as his eyes watered and his throat closed up.

His dad held his head, cradling Stiles to him.

Eventually they both calmed enough to part, and Stiles wiped his eyes with the heal of one hand. “Sorry about your shirt,” he told his dad weakly, indicating the crumpled damp spots on the shoulder.

His dad gave a watery smile and shook his head, “It’s fine.”

Stiles wasn't sure how to talk to his dad now they'd started to patch things up, so he looked around for Derek who wasn’t on the trail anymore. He tapped into the world around him, listening to the forest.

As he suspected, Derek wasn’t too far away, giving them their space. 

Stiles said, out loud, “We’re good, Der. Did you want to come back?” 

Derek started walking, and Stiles stopped tracking him. He slipped his glamour back on and came back to himself to find his dad watching him. He was self-conscious immediately. 

“What?” he asked, hunching his shoulders in defense.

“Nothing bad, I promise,” his dad hurried to explain. “I’ve just never actually seen you do that before.”

Stiles hadn’t meant to give his dad a show and he didn’t like it, not when he wasn’t even sure what there was to see.

His dad didn’t seem put off by whatever it was though. “What were you doing?” He gestured to his own eyes.

Stiles was a little wary when he answered, “Finding Derek?” He hated that he sounded unsure.

His dad just smiled and reached over to ruffle his hair with a heavy hand. When he stopped, he roved a critical eye over Stiles’ head and chuckled softly to himself. 

Stiles ran a hand through his hair and pulled out a piece of leaf. He surreptitiously tried to check for any more, but his dad was still watching and smirking as he did so. Stiles didn’t complain, because he had no idea what his hair was like after months of neglect, and he’d missed this, the camaraderie his dad was displaying.

A warm tiny unfurling began in his heart. 

He cast a quick glance down at his clothes. They were the same ones he’d been running around in for close to four months now. He’d never paid them much attention during that time and it showed. His pants were torn and worm through in places, but thankfully nowhere embarrassing. His t-shirt was much the same, only more threadbare. In some places it was almost see-through. 

Everything was dirty, except for his skin. He’d been swimming in the deeper rivers on and off, played in the rain every chance he got, but he should be able to find dirt somewhere on himself. Yet he couldn’t. His skin was clean, like he’d just showered with soap and put on filthy clothes for the contrast. He didn’t even have any beard growth.

He mentally shrugged; sure it came back to being fae. Just like his ability to ignore the weather, or not have to eat human food.

At that thought, his stomach let out an almighty rumble.

His dad startled, then laughed. 

Derek arrived, and Stiles naturally did what he always did to greet wolf or just be close to him. He wrapped his arms around Derek and rubbed their faces together, foreheads touching, noses bumping.

He hummed in contentment, and Derek’s fingers traced his jaw. 

His dad shuffled awkwardly, and Stiles came back to himself. He stopped, eyes widening, and muttered, “Crap.” He felt strangely self-conscious.

Derek was smiling when Stiles dropped his arms, not phased by the display of affection. If anything, he had an air of smugness about him as he stood a little straighter and clasped Stiles’ hand tightly in his own, halting the attempt Stiles made to put distance between them.

His dad started walking towards the fire break, and home.

Stiles gave a lingering look behind him. The forest beckoned him back, but Derek was tugging him forward.

Derek kept ahold of his hand, and they bumped shoulders as they walked. He had a contented curl to his mouth which made Stiles want to kiss the edges of it, until it was a full smile.

He fell back from his dad as they walked, keeping Derek with him. “You’re awfully smug, Der. Happy with yourself?” he teased, lightly. 

Derek’s resulting grin was highly attractive. With the pale soft cotton shirt he was wearing and the sunlight catching glints in his dark hair, Stiles could stare at him for ages. He was struck by how much of a contrast they made right then; Derek looking like he should be gracing the covers of expensive magazines, and him with his hobo-ness turned up to at least eighty percent. 

“Why are you anxious?” Derek asked, his grin disappearing as suddenly as it had appeared.

“Me? Anxious? Default setting, here, man. Don’t worry about it.” Stiles tried to brush aside the concern. 

But Derek wasn’t Scott, and not so easily dissuaded. “You’ve been anything but, for the past few months. I’d like to know why now.”

Stiles cursed inwardly. “Just going home, I guess,” he answered.

“Hmm, anything else?” Derek raised an eyebrow at him, clearly not buying his explanation. 

“No?” Stiles sighed when Derek frowned. “Fine. If anyone saw us right now, they’d think it strange.”

“You don’t normally care what anyone thinks,” Derek pointed out.

“No, not normally,” Stiles agreed.

Derek nodded to himself. “This isn’t about other people. It’s about what you’re thinking.”

“You know me, always thinking. Stupid things, mostly. Which you also know,” Stiles rambled on lightly. He’d been somewhat truthful; he was beginning to feel stupid about this. “It really isn’t anything.”

Derek just kept looking at him expectantly, until Stiles couldn’t take it.

“Oh, my God! Fine!" he huffed out. "I look like a homeless person, which I guess I have been in a way, and you should be posing for autographs on a red carpet. We just don’t match well, that’s all."

Derek gave Stiles an incredulous stare, causing them both to stop walking. “Stiles, you’re such an idiot,” he said, bluntly.

Stiles didn’t answer, more than aware he could be just that.

Derek stepped up close to him, and Stiles recalled their first walk together down this very track, back when he still had his cane to support him. The walk had resulted in his dad having to say sorry to Derek for a misunderstanding. Now his dad was using the same cane on the same track, after fixing a rift between the two of them. Some kind of weird symbology was going on here.

“Stiles,” Derek called him back to himself. “We match just fine,” he said, and brushed a finger over Stiles' cheek. 

Stiles couldn’t help but smile through his nerves. He did love when Derek touched him with such familiarity. 

“In fact, if anyone was to ask me, I’d tell them there’s no one I match with better than you.” 

Derek moved his head closer, and Stiles held his breath. He was given the sweetest of light kisses.

Stiles licked his lips when it ended and then did it again, because the darkening of Derek’s eyes in response was like a beacon. Reeling him in.

The next kiss wasn’t so light but just as sweet, Derek coaxing Stiles’ mouth open and twining their tongues together, slowly.

Derek tasted like an electric storm; clean and sharp. He made every part of Stiles tingle and yearn to filthy up their kiss.

His hands found the hem of Derek’s shirt and slipped up underneath it to trace over warm smooth skin. His teeth caught on Derek’s bottom lip and tugged before his tongue soothed in a wet slide. His fingers copied the motion, nails scratching lightly across ribs before fingertips rubbed back over the area.

Derek pulled out of the kiss abruptly, and held Stiles apart from him. “Your dad’s probably wondering what’s taking us so long,” he breathed out shakily.

Stiles pulled back from reaching for him again, looking up the path where his dad had disappeared. “Okay,” he said slowly, not sure what he should be doing. 

When he kissed Derek everything made perfect sense to him, it was when he stopped that things became instantly murky and confusing. He felt the need to apologize, to keep kissing him, to run away, to ignore the situation. They were all vying for dominance and he became bogged down in indecision. 

“Don’t over-think it,” Derek advised him, and started walking.

But Stiles wasn’t thinking, that was the problem. His mind wouldn’t allow it. 

“Stop thinking, love. Let it go,” Derek said again.

Stiles tripped over his own feet. He silently thanked his human-clumsiness for being able to wave off his accelerated heart rhythm on his miss-step. 

They kept walking, with Stiles casting glances at Derek while he tried to calm his heart rate back down.

Derek may not have meant to call him love, but Stiles sure as hell heard him say it.

 

***

 

Stiles woke up from one of the deepest sleeps he’d had in ages. It was really strange because he was lying on his bed, in his room, in his house.

When was the last time he’d slept here?

He had no idea.

He’d cleaned himself up first thing when they’d arrived back at the house. He’d taken a shower, changed his clothes, and must have passed out on his bed. 

Someone had pulled one of his blankets over him. He snuggled underneath and held the material up to his chin. He’d had nothing to wrap around himself out in the forest except for Derek. Which really, had been awesome, even if he’d been too fae to appreciate it fully.

He sighed and kicked off the blanket.

There was something in his room calling to him.

He pawed through the mess on his desk and found the paper bag Derek had given him for his birthday, the wooden ball still inside. He tipped it into his hand, opening his mind. The ball’s energy wove into him, tumbling around.

After a while, Stiles understood what the wood’s purpose was, but another ball was needed to make it work. Two spheres; mirror opposite carvings, a balance of magical properties.

Stiles thought about the other piece of Nemeton wood that he was aware of. The wooden coin that Deaton had used on him. It was an assumption it was part of the Tree, but he was sure he was correct. So that made two pieces that were connected to Deaton. The triskelion box and the coin. How many more pieces did the druid hold in his possession?

His mouth twitched up as he put the sphere back in the bag and walked out of his room with it. He needed to see Derek about his balls.

 

***

 

Stiles’ dad was incredibly surprised when he bounced into the kitchen, and asked, “Where are my jeep keys?”

“On the hook,” his dad answered, motioning with his head. He was at the microwave, heating a meal for an early dinner before he headed out on a evening shift. “Going somewhere?” He tried to sound nonchalant and failed.

Stiles flicked his keys into his palm. “Yeah, Derek’s. I’ll be back later, promise.”

He was stopped by his dad’s hand on his elbow. “Stiles, I know that look. What are you planning?”

“Me, planning? No, just driving. I can do that now.” Stiles tried on his most innocent smile, twirling the keys around one finger. 

His dad gave him his best ‘I-am-not-fooled’ look, and shook his head. “I just got you back, son. Don’t do anything too stupid.”

“Again, me? It’s like you don’t know me at all!” Stiles joked.

His dad’s face fell. 

“Too soon?” Stiles asked.

His dad sighed and gave him a hug, which Stiles returned. He went to leave when his dad stopped him again. 

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“You need shoes.”

Stiles had forgotten about his bare feet. “Good call,” he agreed, and turned back to his room.

“I make them from time to time,” his dad said, dryly.

 

***

 

Stiles’ dad watched him as he reversed his jeep down the driveway. He gave a small wave and tried not to grimace at his dad’s look of worry.

He felt bad about going out so soon, but the fact he could drive his jeep again was so liberating he had to laugh a little.

When the motor started and the familiar rumble came through the cabin, he’d leant back in the seat and rubbed his hand over the steering wheel. “You are the best jeep. Yes, you are.” He’d patted the console. “I wouldn’t swap you for a bike. Not even if I was paid. Scott is crazy.”

Stiles was almost overwhelmed by happiness.

The control he had now around things that had given him trouble was firm and absolute. The iron in the jeep was an itch he didn’t need to scratch. The electric fields in the street lights and power lines were a hum he could shut out.

He wound both the windows down and rested an elbow on the door. He was alone on the last main road, just before the preserve ended, and he needed to find the tiny service road that would take him closer to Derek’s house.

Having never actually been there, Stiles was slightly nervous at rocking up unannounced. 

The sky had darkened enough by the time he stopped his jeep for him to be able to pick out individual stars through the canopy of trees. The end of the service road was marked by wooden poles and a ‘road end’ sign. There were five paths and none of them held any indicators as to what they led to. Stiles chose the middle path and set off down it. 

Derek had explained that the road was supposed to have been extended years ago, but the plans were on indefinite hold for numerous forestry reasons. The preserve’s ranger was one of the only people who walked the boundary this far west of the town, and she never went near Derek’s house because it was private property and not on preserve land. It was an ideal set up, really, and Stiles was impressed and jealous when he thought of Derek being out in the forest all the time, while still having somewhere to call home.

The path Stiles was on branched out more than once and he took the directions Derek had given him. Sometimes he stopped to press a hand against a tree. Even though he was in a hurry, he couldn’t deny the part of him that was enjoying communicating and learning about the area Derek lived in.

He was absolutely certain Derek was home by the time he turned onto the last path. He’d ranged ahead through the earth and felt the press of wolf paws on the ground. He stopped before he got too close to the house, respecting Derek’s privacy, and called out to him like he did when they’d been in the preserve together.

Soon after his call, Derek stepped out from between the trees in human form, wearing jeans and nothing else. Stiles willed himself to remain unaffected, while Derek just smiled at him. It was a futile effort, but at least he’d tried.

“You’re here,” Derek said, and hugged him. He was extra warm from his run but not at all sweaty, the benefit of being a wolf. When the hug ended, he hooked his fingers into the top of Stiles’ jeans to hold him close. 

The nearness of a half-naked Derek made thinking a monumental task. Stiles wanted to reach down into those sinfully soft jeans to feel the skin not on display.

He sighed, and pried Derek’s hands off him as he wriggled away. There were other things that required his attention right now.

“Stiles?” Derek asked, looking a bit amused. “Not that I mind, but is there a reason for your visit?”

Stiles pulled the paper bag out from a pocket on his flannel shirt. “I have a plan,” he said. “And it’s a good one. At least the first part, maybe not the second, but the third bit could be awesome and it’s connected to the first so all up this is a good plan!” 

Derek raised an eyebrow at him. “Do I want to know?”

Stiles nodded. “You do.”

He was getting excited just thinking about it.

There had always been a part of him that liked doing things that were slightly illegal. He was a bit of an adrenalin junkie and breaking the law, even if he understood the importance of it, was entirely too much of a high for him. Honestly, he could have quite easily become a juvenile delinquent if not for a deep-seated need to remain someone his dad could love. That his willingness to do the illegal thing had often saved everyone’s hides, didn’t help him in his quest to stay on the right side of the law. In fact, a lot of his plans had a slight law-breaking element, and this one was not the exception. 

Derek was right to be worried as Stiles stood there grinning at him. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” he noted, as he turned to lead the way to his house. 

Stiles took the opportunity to check out his backside as Derek walked in front of him. “No. Well, only the second bit, like I said, and maybe the forth part if the third part doesn’t work.”

Derek gave a huge sigh, but he didn’t turn around. Stiles took that as confirmation Derek was at least willing to hear him out.

“Awesome!” he said, and smiled widely. 

He skipped up closer and walked by Derek’s side. He was still grinning when his attention was caught by the sight of Derek’s home coming into view.

 

***

 

Derek had been busy. The photos Stiles had seen of the house implied there’d been a lot of work to do on it before it became habitable. But from what Stiles had been shown on his tour consisting of kitchen, main living area and library/study, either Derek had the hidden skills of a master builder and access to a time-turner, or he’d employed a whole army of magical elves to work day and night to elicit the changes and improvements that were visible in such a short period of time. 

Stiles was leaning towards his elves theory. Although he wouldn’t be surprised if Derek did have building skills he’d been hiding. He was full of hidden depths and enjoyed tripping Stiles up with them. 

Stiles had been open in his awe and gone around exclaiming over everything. He’d eaten up every detail, committing to memory, as each thing was another peek into Derek’s character. There was a comforting quality to every piece of furniture, many of them second hand and all blending into the ‘modern woodcutter’ vibe the entire house had going on. He touched every wooden surface and picked up the random trinkets Derek had everywhere, intruding beyond what was acceptable for a first-time visit, but unable to curb the impulse.

There was a huge dark wood bookshelf that wasn’t entirely filled, taking up pride of place against one wall in the library area. Stiles was torn between gaping at Derek’s collection of folk lore tombs or trying to sneak a peek into the master bedroom which was off the end of the hallway at the very back of the house.

He was more than a little in love with the place by the time Derek had him sit on the couch in front of the open fireplace. There was no fire lit, but Stiles could tell prying him away from it when it was would require more strength than even Derek had at his disposal. 

The house’s windows would allow in streams of sunlight and the fact there were trees visible from every one only heightened his feelings of envy. He’d never considered the type of place he’d like to live in when he was older, but Derek had somehow created a home he wanted to be allowed to stay in.

Stiles reigned in his wishing for something that wasn’t his to have. Partly because he was unnerved by how much he found himself wanting it, how easy it was to imagine staying with Derek, and partly because he needed to focus on the reason for him visiting in the first place.

Derek was sitting next to him, with a shirt on now, and was waiting for him to explain himself.

Stiles pulled the paper bag from his pocket and tipped the wooden sphere out into his palm. The ball was weighted, more than it should be, and it would only get heavier if he managed to get its mirror twin together with it.

“Do you know what this is, apart from Nemeton wood?” he asked.

Derek reached over and took the ball from him. No one else would have been able to do that without Stiles defending it. The Nemeton wood called to him and would not give itself up to just anyone once he’d held it. He was counting on that connection for part of his plan to work.

Derek shook his head as he ran a fingernail across one of the carved swirls in the wood. Stiles could feel it like Derek had scratched down his spine, and he shivered. Derek smoothed his finger over the surface again, a slight smirk at the corner of his lips when Stiles reacted again.

Stiles pulled his awareness from the sphere before he started to get way too involved in what Derek was doing with his hands. He gave him a slightly reproachful stare with no real heat behind it. 

Derek handed the ball back to him, his thumb rubbing over the engravings one last time, his smirk still very much in place.

Stiles placed the sphere on the couch between them. “I don’t know the name for it, but I know what it was made for. What it can do.”

“It’s got magic,” Derek guessed.

“Makes sense, doesn’t it? The triskelion box works because of the type of wood it is and the magic put inside it with intent as it was formed. Deaton is a jerk, but he has skills.” Stiles tapped the ball as he explained.

“Deaton made this?” Derek asked.

Stiles shrugged. “I’m guessing, but it makes sense. He made the box and I’m pretty sure he made that coin he used on me.”

Derek frowned. “The coin is Nemeton wood, too?”

Stiles nodded. “But we can’t get this sphere to work without the mirror twin to it. I want to break into the animal clinic and find it because it’s got to be there. And I want to do it tonight.”

“You want to rob Deaton?”

“Yes. And I want you to help me.”

Derek said nothing for a while, while Stiles found himself holding his breath.

“You haven’t told Scott have you?” Derek eventually asked.

Stiles scoffed. “No! Scott worships him and even though I may hate the guy, I don’t necessarily want to jeopardize their relationship by putting Scott in the middle.”

“That’s more mature of you than normal,” Derek said, smiling slightly.

Stiles stuck his tongue out at him, purposefully highlighting his immaturity. 

Derek sighed. “Sure. What’s a little B&E between friends?”

“Really? You’ll help?”

“You’re going to do it even if I say no, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah, of course.”

“So I’m saying I’ll help. Because then maybe you won’t end up with your dad arresting your annoying ass.”

“You like my ass,” Stiles shot back, then choked on his own spit. 

Derek laughed, and made a show of giving Stiles a once-over. 

Stiles blushed. “Shut it, you,” he warned, and reached over to flick Derek in the arm. 

 

***

 

Stiles was feeling rather daring, wriggling into the crawl space of the clinic roof after he explained to Derek the security measures Scott had told him about ages ago. He hoped Deaton hadn’t updated them since then, otherwise he was going to have a hard job explaining himself to so many people.

As luck would have it, it had started to rain as they drove to the clinic. It helped in a few ways, less people about for one, but it made it impossible for Stiles to hear anything over a voice right in his ear. It was even worse in the roof.

The rain was coming stronger now, with flashes of lightening illuminating everything at regular intervals, even through the roof tiles. Stiles could feel the electricity in the air and it was like his mind was taking a shower in it. He swore he was sparkling on the inside. It was similar to when he forgot his medication back when he was taking it regularly. 

Derek was following behind him and when Stiles went to pull up the ceiling tile to drop down into the clinic entrance room, Derek held his ankle and squeezed it.

“What?” Stiles whispered back over his shoulder.

Derek shuffled up over his back, and breathed into his ear, “I can hear something.”

“At least one of us can,” Stiles muttered, pressing into the beam he was lying on so Derek wasn’t so close and personal against his ass. He enjoyed it, but still. He was vacillating from being horny and confused, to awkward shyness, to wanting to rip all of Derek’s clothes off and have at him. 

Stiles closed his eyes as he waited for Derek to give the all-clear. Derek stayed poised above him, listening to whatever it was his wolf ears had picked up on. He could feel Derek’s warmth seeping into him along his back, hot breath on his neck and ear. 

The warmth triggered Stiles’ fae magic and it started to reach out. It would be so easy to take Derek’s emotions and wrap himself up in them. It was so tempting. He could pull them into himself and grow strong on them.

Stiles sucked in a shocked breath. That was going down a path he dared not tread. Not ever. 

Taking hold of his magic, he pulled it back from its search and tucked it away. Locked it up tight. It was a trying process, with his mind tingling from the electricity in the storm. But because he was already emitting adrenalin-soaked endorphins, had been since they’d parked a block away from the clinic and skulked their way onto the roof, a few more wouldn’t make much difference to whatever Derek was picking up from him.

He stayed still until Derek nodded and whispered, “We’re good. It was the animals.”

Stiles grabbed the ceiling tile and pulled it up, trying not to focus on the fact that as he did, Derek had to shuffle back off him, causing some interesting friction as he did so. 

Soon, both of them were standing in the clinic, and Stiles was opening the barrier for Derek. He was feeling that familiar excitement he got when achieving a daring deed. He’d pulled quite a few stunts over the years and it was exhilarating to be at it again. The fact he was glad to be breaking the law confirmed he had some social issues he should be more aware of if he wanted to remain out of jail. 

He was taping his fingers against his thighs. He could probably send sparks out from his fingertips if he wanted to. Derek tilted his head in question, but Stiles waved him off and made the effort to stop twitching. He was fine.

When they walked into the back examination room, Stiles screwed up his nose at the overwhelming feeling of druid magic. It was strong all over the building, but in here it was like dunking himself in iced water. He did a full-body shiver, brought on in part by the magic and part by the need to use his excess energy.

“What is it?” Derek asked.

Stiles shook his head. “There’s wards on everything in here.”

He wasn’t happy. He should have known Deaton would have taken precautions of the magic kind after all of the other break-ins over the years. 

Derek stayed near the doorway to listen for anyone coming to check the building, and Stiles got to work. He shook out his shoulders and let his fae side come out more, slipping his glamour off.

“Woah.” He sucked in a breath. “I can see his magic. I would say over-kill but he has reason to be paranoid.”

“Considering he’s getting robbed right now, yes, he does,” Derek commented.

Stiles grinned. He couldn’t help it. “I wish you could see this, Der,” he said, holding his hands out at the side as he turned around near the examination table. “It’s like the Forth of July in here.”

There were sparks everywhere. Considering the sparks on the inside of him as well, this entire robbery was the most surreal one Stiles had ever participated in. 

“I’m fine, as long as we don’t get caught. Now hurry up!” Derek hissed at him.

“Right.” 

Stiles moved from cabinet to cabinet, listening.

There.

He found something.

A warm tugging, threading through the druid magic. It grew stronger, like it could feel him, too, and was calling louder. 

“Something’s in here,” Stiles told Derek, motioning to a drawer under one of the tables. “It’s not the sphere.” 

“The coin?” Derek asked, curious despite himself.

Stiles shrugged. The magic on the drawer wasn’t too heavy, but how to break it without setting off any alarms or tricks? He reached out a finger and brushed at the warm thread coming from within the tangle of cold. He got an idea. 

“In case this doesn’t work, get ready,” he warned Derek, smiling again from the adrenalin pumping through him.

He closed his eyes and tried something he hadn’t done before. Instead of slipping out into the air, he slipped into the warm thread and followed it back into the drawer and wrapped his awareness around the wood that lay there. 

This was strange, because it was only a small part of his mind doing this, not as much as when he air travelled.

When he could feel the weight of the wood, he unravelled more of his magic and coaxed the wood to relocate from the drawer to his hand. It leapt gratefully into the space between the physical and metaphysical. Then using Stiles like a loadstone to direct its energies back into being, pulled itself together.

The whole process took less than a second. 

Stiles’ grin got even bigger, splitting his face wide, as he turned to Derek and held up a fist. He opened it up and sitting on his palm was the wooden coin. 

Derek made an impressed face and motioned for him to hurry up. He walked out of the room as Stiles continued casting around for the sphere.

He eventually found it through sight alone. Surprisingly, Deaton had it on a shelf in a glass cabinet that wasn’t even as well protected as the coin drawer had been. He opened the unlocked door of the cabinet and simply picked up the sphere with his hand, making sure not to brush against the magic wrapped around the objects lying near it.

As soon as Stiles touched the sphere, he understood why there had been no protection. He rubbed his fingers over the carvings. The wood was dead. It had no history left to read. Unlike its vibrant sister, this ball had no intent left. No blessing, not binding. Nothing.

Stiles sighed and pocketed the sphere. He was worried about the Nemeton; he’d been placing so much hope on those two spheres. And now, with one gone, his plan was futile. 

He was standing in the middle of the room, contemplating his next move, when the phone rang and the answering machine picked up the call. Something made him listen in.

“Alan, it’s Brine. I’m in town and need your help. I’ll be in touch.” 

That voice. It haunted his nightmares, the ones he couldn’t suppress. It was the man who’d kidnapped him.

Stiles went a little crazy as the machine clicked off.

When he came to, he was lying on the floor, being held down by Derek who was gripping him by the forearms. 

“Stiles! Stiles! Stop!”

Stiles was gasping for air. This was a panic attack and something else he couldn’t understand. His magic was tripping through him at an alarming rate, sparking off of Deaton’s failsafe measures and causing a reaction that even Derek could see. 

The practice was lit up like a strobe light gone haywire, and Stiles had to shut his eyes against the glare. Before he did, he caught a glimpse of Derek wincing and protecting him from the static bursts with his own body.

“Stiles, breath with me, come on!” 

Derek was sounding frantic, and Stiles wanted to do what he was asking, but his heart was going to explode and there’d be bits of him all over Derek, and not in a way he could appreciate. 

Stiles was shivering. He opened his eyes as the electric current died down. He was going to pass out soon if the spots in his vision were anything to go by. But he couldn’t do that, Derek couldn’t walk out of here with him through the doors, not without doing some major property damage which they’d hoped to avoid. 

Damn Deaton and his security measures. Damn everyone who had ever broken in here before him and made the security measures necessary. 

Stiles needed a distraction from his attack, some way to calm his breathing. 

Remembering when Lydia had done it for him, he grabbed Derek’s head, lifted up and kissed him square on the mouth. He held his breath and focused on Derek, who had stilled in his hands. Stiles let the kiss go on as long as he could, then he flopped back down on the ground and blinked up at Derek.

He could breathe easier, though he was still shaky. The worst had passed.

“What the hell?” Derek said.

“Kissing you made me hold my breath,” Stiles explained. "It's a focus technique."

“Not the kiss, Stiles. Before that.” Derek helped him into a sitting position. 

Stiles rubbed at his face with both hands and titled sideways a little. He was held steady by Derek and then hauled upright. He wobbled but stayed standing with Derek’s help.

“The message on the machine,” Stiles said, trying not to react again. “I know that voice. God, Deaton knows him.”

“Knows who?” Derek asked, almost carrying Stiles to the entrance room.

“The man who took me.”

Derek’s eyes flashed blue and suddenly he was in full beta form. He pulled Stiles closer to him, ready to do damage to someone. “Can you climb?” Derek asked, his voice almost a growl, as he glanced up at the ceiling hole.

“Yeah, help me up.” 

Between them, they managed to get him back up into the roof, Derek compensating for Stiles being shaky and uncoordinated. He’d had years of practice.

When they climbed out onto the roof, the storm was more of a shower and Stiles let the rain soak into him as they scrambled down the building. At least being fae gave him more agility than he’d had before, including when coming down from an energy-induced high and a panic attack, otherwise he would have broken his neck on the slippery surface, even with Derek holding him up and directing his footsteps.

They got back into the jeep and, with Derek driving, hightailed it out of there before anyone showed up.

It wasn’t until they were halfway back to Derek’s that they managed to relax even a little and then, with twin rueful glances, they shared a conspirator’s relieved laugh.

Stiles had to admit; he still liked the rush of a mad escape. 

“That was like old times, really,” he observed.

 

***

 

Back at Derek’s, Stiles was thinking. Slowly.

He didn’t feel the need to loose it like he had before; the rain and Derek having helped with his panic attack, but now he was feeling the lethargic portion and he had a feeling it was going to hit him hard soon, what with the aftereffects of the energy high pulling him down as well.

Before that happened, he needed to reorder his assumptions about his kidnapping. He was trying to anyway. His mind kept switching tracks; his eyes flicking around the house, straying to Derek, then down in his lap where his fingers were threading through the fibers of the blanket he was wrapped up in.

When they’d arrived home, Derek had placed him on the couch, wrapped him in the blanket and given him a hot drink.

Derek obviously had a higher opinion of his motor skills than he did right then. Stiles had placed the drink on the side table. 

Derek was bustling around the house while Stiles watched, a bit bemused by the mothering. He wasn’t allowed to move from where he’d been placed. Whenever he shifted even a fraction, Derek flashed werewolf eyes over to him. 

Stiles rubbed the blanket over his chin and cheek. It was the softest blanket, deep green, and smelt of Derek. He breathed it in surreptitiously as he watched Derek talking quietly on the phone.

When he hung up he glanced over at Stiles, but made no move towards the couch. By the look on his face, he wasn’t sure he’d be welcome.

His uncertainness tugged at Stiles’ heart.

“Silly wolf, come over here,” he said, and unwrapped the blanket, creating space.

Derek didn’t hesitate now, climbing over the back of the couch, and wrapping them both up in the blanket, making Stiles smile. Derek maneuvered him until they were moulded against each other comfortably, propped up by cushions in their own little couch-nest.

“You okay, now?” Stiles asked, slightly concerned.

Derek placed his face in Stiles’ neck and breathed him in. 

Stiles really liked it, having developed an ache for Derek to be in contact with his skin as much as possible, but right then he needed Derek to be less taciturn for a few minutes so he could check him over.

“Derek?”

Derek reluctantly drew back. His eyes were back to green. “Sorry, Stiles.” He frowned.

“What for? Caring for me? Does it look like I have a problem with that, Der?”

If anything, his problem was that he liked it too much. Dependency, thy name is Stiles.

Derek sighed. “Sorry for being so persistent.” He went to extricate himself from the blanket and Stiles used his fae strength to hold him. 

“Don’t start being stupid now, Derek.” 

As he held him, Stiles became aware there was a whole lot that wasn’t being said. The air was swimming with it; an underlying tension on both their parts. Perhaps Derek was finally getting sick of taking care of him. He tightened his grip. Stiles wasn’t good at letting people go. 

“Who were you talking to?” he asked, hoping to delay the inevitable. 

Derek stiffened for a second, then relaxed into Stiles’ embrace. “Your dad,” he admitted.

“Holy crap, Derek! He’s going to kill me!” Stiles was astonished Derek had done that.

“I just said we got a lead on your abduction, no details, and gave him the man’s name.”

“Wait, we have a name?”

Something sour rose up in Stiles’ throat and his heart thumped heavily against his ribs.

“You don’t remember?” Derek pulled the blanket over them both until only their heads peeked out. He moved his hand so it was resting on Stiles’ chest, over his heart. 

“No?” Stiles placed his own hand atop Derek’s, feeling more secure with the solid weight of Derek surrounding him.

“In the message he left for Deaton, he called himself Brine.”

Stiles remembered. “Brine.” He rolled the name around in his mouth, wanting to spit. “What did Dad say?”

“He’s on it right now, checking.”

“How are we going to explain how we got it?” Stiles shivered at recalling the voice that taunted him still. 

“I’ll tell him I broke into Deaton’s and listened to his messages,” Derek shrugged.

Even in his less-than-optimal-brain-functioning state, Stiles knew how stupid that idea was. “Wait, what? No, I don’t think so! How idiotic do you need to be?!”

“It makes sense, Stiles. It puts you in the clear. I can say I had my reasons.”

“And my dad will ask what those are, or where I was while you were doing this. Not to mention, if Deaton is named, they’ll question him and then he’ll find out I stole from him! He’s probably at the clinic already, trying to figure out what set off his bag of magic tricks.”

“Stiles, I am not going to let this lead disappear!”

“But you admitting to breaking and entering isn’t going to happen either! Don’t be a martyr-wolf, Derek. Give me a second and I’ll figure something out.”

Derek huffed, but stayed silent. 

While Stiles found it endearing Derek was willing to protect him in this way, it was also confusing and scary. He should never have that much power over someone. He’d destroy them with it, it was just a matter of when, not if. 

He thought for a while until something Malia had said once came to mind; “Keep it simple. Too many chefs can’t bake in the kitchen.” She’d gotten the proverb wrong, but the idea was still valid. Of course, it meant lying to his dad, but that was his forte. 

“Okay. We tell him I had a flash-back to my kidnapping. Simple.”

Derek’s mouth was pulled into an unhappy frown but he nodded. “Alright. That should work.”

“Of course it will. Have a little faith.”

“Always,” Derek said, completely straight-faced.

Stiles took a moment, trying to figure out if that was sarcasm or not, but Derek gave nothing away, leaving him no option but to ignore it with a final suspicious narrow-eyed glance. 

“You’re willing to lie for me,” he pointed out. There may have been slight gloating in his tone.

“Of course.” Derek was still stoic, but there was a slight rise to one eyebrow and the corner of his mouth.

Stiles felt his own mouth curl up in response.

“So, the wooden sphere? Did you get it?” Derek asked.

Stiles pulled a face and nodded to the paper bag on the side table. Derek extricated himself from the blanket and retrieved it, while Stiles reached into his shirt pocket. He pulled out both the coin and the dead sphere.

Derek held both spheres, one in each hand, and said, expectantly, “What next?”

“Yeah, about that.” Stiles touched the first ball. “This one works.” He touched the other one. “This one doesn’t. It has no life left in it.”

Derek frowned, rubbing a finger along a carving on each sphere. “No life, or no magic?”

“Both?”

“You don’t seem sure.”

“I guess I’m not. I just really wanted to get them together.”

“What exactly were they supposed to do?” 

Stiles sighed, dropping his head onto the back of the couch. “I guess I would have shown you, anyway,” he conceded. “They’re conduits. They were made to call magic together that has been separated.”

Derek held the spheres apart and then touched them to each other slowly. “What kind of magic were you going to bring back together, Stiles?”

“Now I’ve explained how I feel about this, so before you get growly at me, I have a good reason for doing it!”

Derek frowned and Stiles could tell when he put two and two together and got four. “My God, Stiles, were you going to try to pull the Nemeton’s magic back together with these?”

“Maybe? But not really! I mean, they’re too weak. I was going to use them to call the Nemeton wood back to itself. All the pieces. Like a homing beacon.”

“The Nemeton is already a beacon, Stiles! It doesn’t need more juice added to it!”

“It’s a beacon for bad things, Derek! I need to, it’s my job to,” Stiles trailed off. Tried a different way to explain. “If the wood was to be merged back, put back in sync, the Nemeton’s magic might start to heal.”

There was so much more to it than that; energy lines would stabilize, the beacon would be one of balance not disharmony, the resulting effects would ripple outwards and cover the whole county.

But Stiles had no way of explaining the importance of it to someone who wasn’t connected to the Tree like he was.

Derek was looking at him intensely, as if he was listening to Stiles with everything in him. Stiles had to admit, having Derek put that much effort into understanding him stroked his ego. There was no way he was going to be able to let Derek go. 

“Why didn’t you explain this before?”

“Because I thought you wouldn’t help me,” Stiles admitted. “You’re not impressed, are you.”

“With you not trusting me, very much so. Stiles, haven’t you figured it out by now? I’m always on your side.”

“When did that happen, exactly, Derek? Because you can’t blame me for thinking you may give me some trouble with this.”

“Only if you go by how things were between us when we first met.”

Stiles paused before he answered, very aware they were skirting around the unsaid things again. “Alright. I shouldn’t have assumed. Things are different now.”

Derek shifted a bit on the couch, got closer to Stiles. “You said the balls won’t work now?”

Stiles moved until he was resting back against Derek once more. He could still feel the unsaid things floating between them, waiting for him to ask the right questions.

“No. This one’s dead.”

He placed his hand over the sphere, covering Derek’s fingers. He reached out again with his magic, trying to feel any Nemeton presence within it. He found it difficult, sluggish. He really wasn’t in the right mind-frame to be trying anything.

Derek sucked in a breath. “Stiles.”

“What?” He dropped his hand, quickly. 

“I felt that. Did you do something?”

“You? What?” Stiles had no idea what that meant.

“The sphere, it heated up for a second. Was that you?”

“Maybe? But I don’t understand why you’d feel it. Or what happened.”

Derek rubbed his thumb over the carvings on the first sphere.

Stiles couldn’t help himself, he reached out with his magic and connected to it.

The stroking was enough to make him loose his train of thought. He sat and shivered through the touches. 

Derek hummed in thought. “Maybe it’s not completely dead? Maybe it needs to be woken up?”

Stiles raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite his mind-fog, and placed his pointer finger on the dead sphere, on one of the carvings not covered by Derek’s strong fingers. He went looking deeper, searching into the wood, slowly, afraid he’d missed something before. 

There. Was that?

“I can feel that,” Derek breathed out, sounding awed. “What are you doing?”

Stiles continued searching. “I’m searching the wood for magical intent, the Nemeton’s presence, or even Deaton’s magic.” That last part made him pause.

Derek blinked slowly, eyes unfocussed. “It’s as if the sphere is moving, while staying still. Like I’m holding too much water in the palm of my hand, and it’s not falling away.”

Stiles slipped further into the wood, his mind loosing focus of his surroundings, but he managed to smile at Derek’s words. “You’re a poet at heart, Der,” he teased.

He breathed deep and fell that last little bit, and the room vanished. All he knew was the sphere, following the carved lines from the outside into the core, trying to find that little sliver of something.

At last he beheld it; a tiny squirmy light. Pin prick small.

Stiles coaxed it to get bigger, tapping into the Nemeton and connecting the two together. He came back to himself with a rush as the sphere’s magic expanded at an extreme rate, pushing him out as it sucked in the Nemeton’s magic and thrived once more. 

“Woah,” Stiles said, and blinked as the room swayed around him. 

Derek was also reacting, resting his forehead on the back of the couch. “Fuck,” he mumbled. “What the hell was that?”

Stiles was giggly and prideful as he answered, “That was the sphere getting a long over-due hug from mommy.”

He took the ball back from Derek, able to feel it pulsing now, just like its sister did. It would take a while for it to settle down and be usable, but it was a beginning.

Derek relaxed when Stiles took the sphere from him. “That thing packs a punch.” He handed over the other one.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” Stiles asked, worried, as he placed the spheres behind him on the couch where they rolled into the groove between the back and the cushion. 

“No. At the end I felt you. It was a little overwhelming. Your magic is intense. You’re intense.”

Stiles was suddenly very hot, and he swallowed. The unsaid things were popping up more and more. For someone who kept telling him to let it go, Derek was very capable of putting things right back in front of him. 

“Sorry, Stiles,” Derek said, softly. “I’ll stop.”

“No!” Stiles wasn’t even sure what he was protesting. “You’re not doing anything wrong.” He bit his lip. “Okay, I need to say something.”

His heart started beating a mile per minute as he considered telling Derek how he felt. But before that, he needed to let him in on some other truths.

“I’m aware I’m screwed up,” he started. “I know how completely broken I actually am. I may not understand in what ways, but I know.” 

Derek made a noise of protest, but Stiles silenced him with a sharp look. 

“I don’t want to hurt you. That’s the biggest issue here. I’m damaged, Derek, and I’m sucking you into my problems. You need to know everything so you can get away.”

“Stiles, you’re an idiot,” Derek said, trying to interrupt.

“You should know, Derek, I’m not a good enough person to be able to walk away from you. It’s way too late for me. I’m too selfish and I love you too much. The fae said I was pair bonded with you and I kind of freaked, because I don’t want to trap you, but I think I have anyway.”

Stiles was startled when Derek took a hold of his chin and made him look into his eyes. Derek’s face was fierce; his eyes were sparking, his frown was set. He was magnificently beautiful, and Stiles wanted to own every part of him in a way that was terrifying in its possessiveness. 

“I’m going to have my say now,” Derek said, seriously. “I think I made a mistake, Stiles. A big one.”

Stiles’ heart gave a painful lurch. Here it was. 

“I thought I was doing the right thing, waiting to tell you. But I should have done it before, and I should have been telling you over and over. Maybe it would have helped you. I know you have a low opinion of yourself, but I didn’t realize it was an issue here. I thought your reluctance was to do with your kidnapping.”

“What?” Stiles was lost. 

“Stiles, I know you love me. You told me under the sycamore, remember?”

Stiles shook his head minutely.

He hadn’t had he? He was mortified. All this time and Derek hadn’t said anything?

“Don’t worry, you’ve never been one to hide how you feel about someone. I’d already guessed. But, Stiles, it’s obvious you don’t know how I feel about you.”

“How do you feel about me?” Stiles whispered.

“I love you, Stiles. With everything I am. I’m in love with you.” Derek was completely at ease with what he was saying.

For Stiles, his world stopped.

“No. You don’t. That’s stupid.”

 

***


	16. The Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles listens and finally understands.

Stiles ran out the door and down the path.

“Stiles, wait, God damn it! Talk to me!” Derek yelled at him from the porch.

Stiles kept running.

His heart was aching, bruised and throbbing in his chest. He ran with a hand over it, using fae speed to reach his jeep in record time. He jumped in, driving away at a dangerously stupid speed.

It took a few minutes of careening along the forest road for him to realise Derek hadn’t chased him. He’d stayed on the porch, calling for Stiles to come back until he was too far away to hear him anymore.

“Fuck!” Stiles yelled, and hit the steering wheel.

Then he grabbed it with both hands and rightened the jeep when he almost plowed into a tree. He shouldn’t be driving. He slowed down and stopped, turning off the ignition. Then he sat there.

He’d never felt like this before. It was as if he’d dropped his heart somewhere between Derek’s porch and his jeep. There was an echoing cavern where it should be and the echo had no limit, traveling outwards to every part of him, making him numb. 

He’d wrecked quite a few things in his life, but none as spectacularly as his relationship with Derek.

Hearing Derek say he loved him, to hear it said with no amount of guile, that Derek believed what he was saying; was everything to him, and he couldn’t have it. 

Stiles understood what had happened, even if Derek didn’t.

His need for Derek, his so-called pair bond was jacking Derek up. It explained everything of course. All of Derek’s caring, all of the physical interactions, all of the help. Derek believed something that was just a magical manipulation. 

Stiles really needed someone to talk to.

Scott. He needed Scott.

But he’d been ignoring his best bud for ages now. How could he expect Scott to be there for him when he’d been the crappiest friend for over half a year? Stiles didn’t even know if he was in Beacon Hills or had left for college orientation. 

And where was Lydia? Or Malia? Or Kira? Stiles had managed to dump all of his friends. 

“Way to go, you ass,” he whispered to himself, meaning everything he’d managed to screw up.

He started the jeep and drove a lot more respectably the rest of the way home. He climbed up the sycamore tree and lay there, feeling utterly defeated, one leg hanging over the bower.

When the back door opened, the sound didn’t even compute. 

“Stiles? Can you come down, please?” 

He blinked, sure he’d heard his dad. 

“Damn it, Stiles, don’t make me get the ladder.”

He rolled over and looked down at the ground below where his dad stood, craning his head upwards. His dad sounded tired, and Stiles was surprised he was even at home right now having thought he was on night duty.

Stiles slid down the tree, landing quietly on the grass.

His dad raised an eyebrow at his rapid decent. “That’s certainly something.”

Stiles felt too numb to speak, he merely waited to see what his dad wanted. 

His dad surprised him by pulling him into a hug and holding him until Stiles relaxed into it, and then even longer after that. 

“Come on inside.” His dad nodded towards the house. “Scott’s coming over tomorrow morning.”

“Scott?” Stiles asked. What were the odds of that? “He’s here?”

“No, later on.” His dad frowned at him. 

Stiles scratched at his chin. “Uh, I didn’t know if he was in Beacon Hills or not. I thought maybe he’d left for college.”

“Stiles, Scott’s not leaving,” his dad said, obviously just coming to an understanding on something if his face was anything to go by. “Did you think he’d be okay to go when he didn’t know what was happening to you?”

Stiles shrugged, uncomfortable. That’s exactly what he’d thought.

“Scott’s going to the community college here. He and his mom worked it out. He’s going to keep working for Deaton and make up the classes online that he can’t do here. He’s even got some work-placements figured out, at least that’s what I’ve been told by Melissa.”

Stiles was confused. “But he wanted to go to California-Davis.”

“And leave when his best friend was missing? Stiles, give him some credit.”

His dad was honestly disappointed by his lack of faith, Stiles could tell. 

“It’s not like I’ve given him reason lately to stay,” he admitted. 

They entered the house and his dad steered him towards the kitchen and made him sit down at the table.

“You’re seriously underestimating how much that boy loves you.”

“I don’t want him jeopardizing his career for me.” Stiles was very uncomfortable with the idea. “Scott should get out of Beacon Hills while he can, it’s not conducive for a safe future.”

“And what about you? You applying that logic to you, too?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes in discomfort. “It’s not the same for me, Dad. I don’t get to choose.”

“What?” His dad stopped and shook his head. “We’ll visit that later, don’t think we won’t. But there’s something more pressing right now. Do you know why I’m home?”

“No?” 

His dad had that stern-eyed fortified look he got when he had to tell someone bad news. “Derek called me earlier tonight, told me the name of your kidnapper. We looked into this Brine guy and we got a hit. His full name is Gavin Joseph Brine. Stiles, he’s wanted for murder.” 

Stiles sucked in his bottom lip. Rubbed his knuckles along his chin.

Murder. Not surprising, really. 

Gavin Brine.

Not the name Stiles pictured for the man who almost killed him. But really, anything less than super-villain-ey and he was bound to be disappointed. There was a reason Tom Riddle had an alias.

“Was this before or after he took me?” 

His dad sat back in his chair and stared at him. “Before. Stiles, are you alright?”

“Hmm? Yeah. I’m good. So Gavin Joseph Brine, huh? Who’d he kill?”

His dad frowned. “His wife and young daughter.”

“Do I want to know how?”

“No.”

Stiles nodded. He didn’t need more reasons to be thankful he was alive. Before his kidnapping, he would have wanted to know. He was tapping his fingers on the table and dropped his hand onto his thigh. 

His dad didn’t say anything, used to Stiles’ twitching, though his frown grew more pronounced.

“Not to be rude, but I’m pretty sure you didn’t come home to tell me that,” Stiles pointed out.

“Not just that,” his dad agreed. “I called Derek to update the both of you with this and Derek told me you’d left. I thought it prudent that I come home to let you know you need to be careful.”

“You came home to check I was here, didn’t you?” Stiles tiredly waved off his dad’s denial. “Don’t, it’s understandable. You only just got me back. I’m actually surprised you let me leave the house earlier.”

“So was I, but you’re an adult now, and Derek was going to be with you.”

“Less chance of me deciding to run away again if he is?” Stiles asked, trying to reign in the sarcasm because the loathing he was feeling was directed at himself, not his dad.

“Well, yes.”

Stiles held the back of his neck and rolled his head on his shoulders. 

“Scott called when I got in,” his dad told him. 

Stiles could feel the weighted gaze his dad was giving him as he closed his eyes. He flopped forward towards the table, pillowing his head on his arm. “Hmm?” 

“Needless to say, I was surprised he was using the landline, but then, you’d need to have your mobile with you for him to get in contact that way.” His dad’s own sarcasm was thick and made Stiles wince into the dark space provided by his elbow. “He’s coming over to talk some sense into you. At least I’m assuming that’s what he’s doing, considering what Derek sounded like when I spoke to him.”

Stiles lifted his head up, and said with a whine, “Why do you care what Derek sounded like?”

It was immature of him and he knew it, but he was distinctly uncomfortable and upset with himself. 

His dad raised his eyebrows. “Because I care about you, about the both of you, and Scott mentioned Derek was the reason he was calling you.”

Stiles groaned.

It was like a very sad version of Chinese Whispers being played out in front of him.

He let his head fall forward again. “No, Dad, I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, pre-empting his dad’s question.

He’d talk about this with Scott, but his dad? No way. 

His dad took pity on him, remaining silent for a solid minute. Enough time for Stiles to raise his head and lock gazes with him. His dad ended up sighing and reaching into his jacket pocket.

“Here’s your phone, kiddo.” His dad pushed it across the table towards him. Then he stood up and clapped Stiles on the shoulder. “I’m heading back out. Be careful, okay? We know that Brine was here a few months ago, so until we find him we need to be vigilant. He could be in Beacon Hills. If anything happens, anything at all, you call the station immediately.”

Stiles almost pointed out that Brine was indeed here, but he couldn’t tell his dad without admitting he’d broken the law just a few hours before.

“You be careful, too, Dad. Brine’s a murderer. If he’s here, you need to be smart about it.”

“Hey, who’s the sheriff around here?” his dad asked.

“You are,” Stiles answered with a small smile.

It was what they always said to each other when he used the ‘be careful’ card on his dad when he went to work.

“So you know I’m always careful, right?”

“Right.”

“Because I’m the sheriff,” his dad finished. He was smiling, too. “See you later,” he said, and left.

 

***

 

It was early morning when Scott came over, and Stiles wasn’t sure how to start things with him apart from giving him the biggest ‘sorry’ hug in the world. So that’s what he did as soon as Scott walked in the house.

Scott hugged him back, and they stayed like that until Scott spoke over his shoulder. “I’ve missed you. Are you okay?” He pulled back to look Stiles up and down.

He was obviously worried, his eyes were wide and he had the raised eyebrow frown thing going on that Stiles had always thought was endearing because it made him look so young and belied the strength inside the man.

“Me? What about you?” Stiles deflected. “Why am I hearing you’ve changed colleges? Dad had better be wrong about it being for me.”

Scott shrugged, unrepentant in the face of Stiles’ dismay. “It was, but not completely. There’s the money thing, too. My new choice is way cheeper and you know we’re always tight on that front.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, because he did know, and related. “But, Scott, you’re not giving up on your future for me, are you?”

“What if I was? Something wrong with that?”

Stiles threw up his hands. “Everything’s wrong with that! Come on! I’m not worth throwing your life away for!” 

Scott was adamant when he answered, “Stiles, you are so wrong about that. If I wouldn’t do that for my brother, who would I do it for? Besides, you’re over-dramatizing things. I’m actually feeling better about this than going away. We can stay together, and I’ll still be with Mom, too. I didn’t like the thought of leaving her alone.”

“But Scott —”

“No, Stiles. You’re always giving up stuff for me, now I’m doing the same. But it’s not much of a compromise. I’m gaining more than I’m giving up. And these past few months have made it very clear to me that I don’t want to loose you again.”

“Scott, don’t do this —”

“We’re the closest of bros, man. Forever. I’ll always need you in my life and at the moment you need me to be here. Don’t you?”

Stiles sighed.

Scott was a stubborn wolf when he set himself a goal. But there was truth to what he said. Stiles did need his brother with him. He’d missed him and hadn’t even known how much until Scott was standing in front of him.

“Yeah, Scotty. I need you,” he admitted.

Scott gave him a big smile. “So I’m here.”

“Scott.” Stiles shook his head, at a loss. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Now, what the hell did you do to Derek?”

 

***

 

“Derek told you he loved you and you left?” Scott slapped Stiles in the arm. “You dumbass!”

Stiles rubbed his arm which didn’t hurt as much as it would have when he was human. He groaned, “What was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, Stiles! Maybe tell him you love him back and then go from there?!”

“I already did that,” Stiles sighed. “Apparently.”

“Explain,” Scott demanded.

They were up in Stiles’ bedroom eating cereal and, in Stiles’ case, drinking a truly huge fruit smoothie.

Stiles placed a mouthful of cereal in his mouth and used it as an excuse to not answer right away. He chewed slowly, making innocent eyes at Scott who was frowning at him. He finally swallowed then took a large gulp of smoothie, followed by another one.

“Stiles!” Scott ground out. “Talk to me.”

Stiles lowered the smoothie and swallowed the last bit in his mouth. He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Derek said I told him I loved him months ago.”

“And somehow you forgot that?”

Stiles couldn’t blame Scott for sounding bemused at his actions. 

“In my defense, I was busy at the time!” He felt himself getting embarrassed, which was not like him at all. He’d always been open about his sex life.

“What were you doing that you wouldn’t remember telling Derek you … oh!” Scott blinked, and then a huge grin lit up his face. “Way to go, bro!”

“Not what you’re thinking, Scott. There was mutual getting off, but clothes stayed on.”

“Okay, but then last night, Derek said it back?”

Stiles nodded, morosely.

“And you ran away. From Derek.”

“Please just say whatever it is you want to say, Scott.” Stiles was slightly exasperated. He was well aware of what he did, and while he had reasons it was still a dick move.

“You’re a moron.”

“He doesn’t mean it,” Stiles tried to explain.

Scott opened his mouth to reply, then stopped. “What?”

Stiles sighed. “He only thinks he loves me, Scott. It’s that damn pair bond thing mucking with his head!”

“You’re pair bonded with Derek?!” Scott’s voice went high, and he coughed.

“The fae said I was.” Stiles didn’t see why that should make Scott look at him like he was now. 

“Stiles, you can’t pair bond unless both parties are okay with it. It’s a soul-deep almost primal choice.”

“Wouldn’t that mean there is no choice?”

“No. A pair bond only occurs between two supernatural creatures when they feel the other one completes them.”

“If you say I heart Derek, I’ll throw something at you,” Stiles warned, but he was curious. “It’s a choice both have to make? One can’t be coerced by the other? Made to want it, when they wouldn’t normally?”

“Did you think you forced him to love you? Stiles, no!”

“Huh.” Stiles wasn’t sure where that information put him right then. “But that means —”

“That Derek really does heart you.” Scott made the love heart symbol with his hands over his chest and grinned stupidly.

Stiles pulled a face at him, which made Scott chuckle. “It also means that I’m —”

“A complete idiot, who has the world’s best friend who deserves the credit for bringing you two together in the first place!” Scott was on a roll. “There’s also something else that proves the pair bond isn’t anything you did to him,” he continued. “Derek already had feelings for you when he came back to help find you. That’s the truth of why he stayed. He’s hearted you for a loooong time, dude.”

“You need to stop with the hearting, but are you serious?”

“Uh-huh.”

Stiles could feel himself heat up from the inside out. His palms got tingly and he rubbed them on his thighs repeatedly. 

Derek loved him. 

Somehow, broken and beaten up Stiles Stilinski had Derek-freaking-Hale loving him.

This would be the perfect time for a panic attack. 

His knee was jiggling up and down where he had his legs crossed on the bed, so much so that his cereal bowl took a dive off his lap onto the floor. He let it go. It was mostly empty and he’d drank all the milk in it anyway.

Scott was still grinning like a loon when Stiles stood up and started pacing. 

“I need to go.”

“To Derek? Yeah, you do,” agreed Scott, wholeheartedly.

Stiles stopped. “You’ve been way more supportive of all this than I’d expect,” he complimented.

Scott shrugged and leant back on the bed, going for the epitome of cool. He ruined it somewhat with the eager puppy dog eyes and teeth flashing. “I knew what Derek felt for you before we got you back. I also knew you were in love with him. For absolutely ages. And I never let on.”

“What?” Stiles spluttered. “How did you?”

Scott tapped the side of his nose and one ear.

“Damn werewolf superpowers,” Stiles muttered darkly. They’d caught him out again and he hadn’t even known it.

“Hey, you’ve got some wicked superpowers of your own I hear,” Scott shot back. “Which, I’d like to point out, you still haven’t shown me or explained.”

“Later.” Stiles started pacing again, suddenly very nervous. “How do I —?”

“Tell Derek you’re sorry?”

“Yeah.”

He was way out of his league here, even though he’d had to apologize far too often in his life to not know how to do it correctly.

Scott stood up and walked over to him. “Just like that.”

“Just like that?”

Scott nodded. “Derek called me because he said you needed to talk to me. When I asked him what was wrong, he said you were confused, upset, and needed your best friend.”

“He said that? And how did he know?” Stiles, once again, was floored by Derek’s ability to understand what he needed.

“He knows you,” Scott said, simply. “We’ve all seen it.” 

“This whole love thing is not a surprise to anyone, is it? Except me.”

“You’ve been going through a heap of stuff. I guess Derek was just going to wait it all out, not overwhelm you.”

“But I must be really blind.”

“Lydia said you were in denial.” Scott started grinning again. “It was interesting to watch. You guys were practically joined at the hip, all over each other, and you had this whole naive thing going on. Derek must have will-power the strength of adamantium not to put the moves on you.”

Stiles heated up again at the mention of Derek putting the moves on him. He bit his lip, hoping this stupid blushing thing wasn’t going to stay around.

Scott’s grin softened. “There was no way all that flirting wasn’t working on you at some kind of unconscious level. You deserve some happiness.”

“Do I?” Stiles wasn’t so sure about that.

“Take it from me, you do.” Scott pushed him towards the bedroom door. “So what are you doing standing here talking to me? Go get you some happy!”

 

***

 

Stiles stood in the back yard and pulled out his phone, praying it worked now he had a better handle on his magic. He wanted to get to Derek as soon as possible.

If Derek wanted him there, that is. Scott could be mistaken.

He almost dropped his phone when Derek answered on the first ring.

“Stiles?”

It was strange to talk on a phone after so long, and hearing Derek’s voice made Stiles choke up. “Derek?”

“Stiles, are you okay?” 

“I’m sorry I’m so stupid. And mean.”

Derek was silent on the other end, and Stiles felt a frisson of doubt creep into his heart before Derek breathed out, and said, “Come back, Stiles, please.”

“I’ll be right there,” Stiles promised and hung up.

He placed his phone in his jeans pocket and made sure he was standing in full morning sunlight. If he could do this, this would be the longest sunlight-leap he’d ever done. 

Scott came out the back door and stood watching. “What are you doing? Is this that thing Mom told me you did when you’re here and then suddenly gone?”

“Yeah. I move through the sunlight,” Stiles told him.

“And I thought the weather thing was awesome. Show me, man!”

Stiles thought about Derek and his home in the forest.

Just before he pulled himself through the sunlight he turned to Scott, winked to cover up his nerves, and said, “Beam me up, Scotty!” 

 

***

 

As soon as Stiles arrived, Derek was jumping down the porch steps to meet him. 

Stiles had the worst case of dry mouth and had to swallow more than once before he could speak. “Derek.” It wasn’t eloquent, but he was hoping it said everything he wanted to say because he was unable to form anything more coherent.

“Stiles,” Derek puffed out, breathing like he’d been running and was human, trying to catch his breath.

Stiles could relate. He was having trouble breathing, too. 

Not that it mattered much, because they both reached out at the same time and Derek was gathering him in and kissing him with a surety that melted Stiles from the outside in. 

 

***

 

Stiles finally got to see Derek’s bedroom and even managed a cursory look around, before he was lying on the bed with Derek above him gazing at him with such reverence that it un-nerved him a little.

And wow, he’d thought the blanket out on the couch was amazing, but Derek’s sheets were topping the list because nothing had ever been so soft against his skin.

“Stiles, stop talking and kiss me,” Derek whispered as he dipped down and sucked on Stiles collarbone. 

Stiles tipped his head back as he stared up at the ceiling. “Give me something to kiss then ... fuck!”

Derek had moved up under his ear to where his jaw started and laved at it with his tongue before nipping at the nerve. It sent shock waves down Stiles’ spine and made his dick throb in his jeans.

Derek placed his fingers against Stiles’ mouth which he obligingly opened. He sucked the digits in and wrapped his tongue around them causing Derek to sigh against his neck. Stiles smiled around his fingers as they curled to press against his bottom teeth. 

“Feel me,” Derek whispered to him, removing his fingers and leaving a damp trail down Stiles’ chin.

Stiles gripped him tighter with his hands, arching up underneath him. 

“No.” Derek looked into his eyes. “Feel me. Use your magic, Stiles. I need you to know how much I want this, want you.”

Stiles gulped.

He’d been stifling that urge since the clinic break-in the night before. Even before then he hadn’t just wallowed in emotions every time Derek or someone else touched him because sucking out people’s feelings without their consent was disturbing. But after the clinic he was even more worried about using it. He’d been a passenger to how wrong it could be.

“Breathe and let go,” Derek instructed. Placing both of his incredibly warm and wonderful hands against each side of Stiles’ face, he leant in. 

Stiles’ eyelids fluttered closed as he breathed through his nose and let himself be led into a series of slow, deep kisses. He hesitantly reached out with his magic, letting himself touch the emotions coming off Derek. He could feel it; the overwhelming love-love-love pouring off him. It was in every kiss; every press of his lips, every stroke of his tongue, every nip of his teeth. 

Instead of wanting to pull more of it into himself Stiles wanted to lie back and bask in it, let it flow over him and soak into every fibre of his being. He loosened the hold on his magic even further, his mouth falling slack under Derek's as he shivered, almost overwhelmed. 

Derek pulled back from kissing him and mumbled, “Can you feel that?”

“Hmm.” Stiles nodded, eyes still closed as he smiled.

Derek kissed him again, and Stiles dropped even further into the wave of love washing over him. There was something there, something he chased after and tried his best to understand. It reached out and wrapped around him, holding him tight and secure. 

He gasped, and pulled out of the kiss to stare at Derek. “Holy fuck,” he whispered, awed, and not able to verbalize it any clearer that that. 

It was belonging. Understanding. Possessive need, but not scarily so. Comfort. Protection. A wanting to be known, to join, to bond. To be together. To cherish, to find solace. To love.

Derek wanted him. All of him. 

The past half a year surged up from the recesses of Stiles’ mind, opened like a flower to his scrutiny and suddenly all of the confusing interactions between himself and Derek made perfect sense. 

Derek smiled, and Stiles’ heart wanted to merge with Derek’s own. He knew what this was finally. The completeness of being with the one person, one wolf, who would be his, who he would belong with. Pair bonded. Mated. Derek and him. 

Against all of his expectations, his assumptions, Stiles had managed to achieve the one dream he never thought possible.

“Derek.” Stiles had to blink a few times, swallow to get his mouth to form words. “I get it now.” He couldn’t believe how blind he’d been. 

Derek loved him. 

Sure, Scott had told him, but he’d still had doubts. This, this was knowing, understanding, believing on a molecular level. He’d never doubt Derek again.

Derek was waiting patiently, and Stiles thought back to how he’d behaved all the other times when he’d tried to explain things.

Stiles gave him a lingering kiss. When he pulled back, he rubbed a finger over Derek’s bottom lip, and smiled. “So far I’m not freaking out. That’s got to be good, right?”

Derek nodded. “Right.” 

“I suppose it could happen.” Stiles ran his hands over Derek’s back and shoulders in a possessive manner, and his smile got wider as Derek responded by shuddering and leaning into him. “But I don’t think so.” He gripped Derek’s hair in both hands and rubbed his nose along Derek’s, pressing their faces together. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you said it. I do now.”

Derek’s breathing hitched. “You sure?”

He sounded so hopeful. 

“I’m sure. I’ve told you before, remember, how I feel.”

Derek hummed in agreement. 

“I’ll say it again,” Stiles announced, wanting to prove himself.

Derek beat him to it. “I love you, Stiles.”

When he didn’t deny it, and only smiled, Derek said it again, with more fervor. “I love you.”

“I know it, Der. This time, I really know it.”

Stiles was still smiling when Derek kissed him again.

“Keep going,” he urged, as Derek moved down to kiss his neck. Derek couldn’t stay away from that area, not that Stiles was complaining. He was going to be so marked up, like Derek was claiming him for all to see. He liked the idea a lot, and held Derek’s head in place. “Keep going,” he said again, meaning more, more, everything, all of it. “I want every part of you.”

“Stiles?” Derek asked.

“No, don’t move away, keep going!” Stiles grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled.

Derek huffed out a laugh, and lay back down on him, moving Stiles’ legs and settling in between them. 

“Yes!” Stiles enthused, and wrapped his legs around Derek’s hips, tightening his muscles to lock him in place.

Derek started rocking, with Stiles arching up into it, but it wasn’t long before he stopped. Stiles made a distressed noise. 

Derek shushed him, and reached for his shirt. “Better with clothes off,” he explained.

Stiles was like an octopus dancing as he struggled to comply as fast as possible. 

Derek laughed again, gently, and helped still his frantic motions, getting their shirts and then pants off, cupping Stiles in one hand before lining them up together and with sure motions starting the rocking again that was so appreciated.

When Derek held his dick, it was almost over too quickly.

When Derek rolled his hips into Stiles, the dry catching slide of their dicks against each other forced Stiles to press his fingernails into his palms to steady himself.

As their precum made everything wetter, Stiles’ legs fell open even further, not capable of more, and he could only tilt his hips up into the sensation, gazing blearily at Derek moving over him. He lost his grip on Derek, and forgot to use his mouth for anything other than groaning and trying to catch his breath.

Stiles was trying, he really was. He wanted to make it good for Derek. He wasn’t a novice at sex, but with Derek he wanted to do everything all at once, and it was still different enough with a guy that Stiles was finding himself transfixed by every move Derek made. He hoped he had enough presence of mind to not be making any weird faces, because he was far too good at that at the best of times.

Whatever he was doing, it worked for Derek, because he was growling softly and his eyes were glinting blue and green at the same time, little flashes that Stiles had never witnessed before. He was transfixed by the constant changing colours, the widening of the pupils in Derek’s eyes. 

Stiles’ whole world was the force of Derek’s thrusting, his weight bearing down, his glowing eyes. Stiles spared a tiny thought for his own fae nature. Were his eyes changing too?

Derek captured Stiles’ bottom lip between his teeth and sucked on it, causing Stiles to moan and stick his tongue into Derek’s mouth when he opened for him. The kiss was wet and deep and when Derek growled the vibrations went down Stiles' throat and settled in his lungs. 

Stiles was of the opinion that every type of kiss with Derek was awesome and should be repeated as much as possible, probably to the point where they hardly did anything else. 

Derek got his hand down between them and cupped Stiles’ balls, rolling them in his palm. 

Stiles revised the kissing rule to doing nothing but kissing and having lots of sex, because they hadn’t even gotten to the penetration part and he was already loosing his mind.

Derek was constantly murmuring his name whenever his mouth wasn’t latched on to some part of Stiles' skin, sucking and sometimes nipping, causing Stiles to jump a little each time and groan at the sting. A little pain could go a long way into heightening pleasure and he was all on board for Derek’s use of teeth. 

Stiles closed his eyes to help focus, but found it only made him more aware of every place he and Derek were touching. He managed to wrap his wobbly legs back around Derek. He liked pulling him in and holding Derek on top of himself. 

“God, Stiles, yes,” Derek told him, so he was pretty sure Derek liked it too.

Stiles got with the program a bit more and started to reciprocate, sucking on every piece of Derek he could get his mouth to touch. Each time he did, Derek shivered or moaned and twitched, and Stiles followed with quick fingers to sooth or press harder or skim over the numerous bites he couldn’t stop giving. The marks disappeared quickly, and Stiles tried his best to make a mark that stayed longer than seconds. He bit harder into Derek’s shoulder, not noticing the strength he was using. 

Derek jolted like he’d been shocked. “Fuck, Stiles!”

“Good fuck, or bad fuck?” Stiles asked.

They were both still rocking together so he wasn’t sure it was bad, but Derek’s reaction had been so strong it could have been.

“Fucking good,” Derek said, leaning in to press his own blunt teeth to the same spot on Stiles.

Stiles tilted his head and moaned as Derek bit harder than he had before. “Yeah, fuck, good, so good,” he agreed.

Teeth were obviously a thing for both of them. Good to know.

By now, Stiles was so ready to come part of him had forgotten, so caught up in the ride towards orgasm that the ending wasn’t the main goal. Because of this, his dick suddenly deciding it couldn’t hold out any longer and pulling him into the most intense orgasm he’d had in over half a year had him catching a scream in the back of his throat and his eyes rolling up into his head. 

His release had Derek moving faster, thrusting against Stiles harder, causing Stiles’ orgasm to be prolonged into one long wave that had his silent scream turning into open-mouthed moans. 

“Derek!” he managed to gasp out.

Derek groaned above him, and spilled over his stomach in hot stripes that had Stiles rocking up into him again just from the strange awesomeness of it. 

Derek lay his entire weight on him. He was still shuddering, his nerves so strung up that when Stiles ran a hand down his shoulder and over his back, Derek’s skin prickled and twitched and his muscles tightened up before relaxing.

Stiles had to smile at Derek’s apparent overload. Stiles had done that. Stiles was a god.

“That good, huh?” he couldn’t help asking.

Derek snorted into Stiles’ chest and rolled his face over it. Stiles giggled at the sensation and the fact he was feeling so very fine right then. 

At that moment, Derek was more relaxed and open that Stiles had ever seen him. When he looked up his soft smile was playing around the corners of his lips and his eyes were clear and there was no frown to be seen. 

Stiles pressed his finger to the edge of Derek’s mouth, and when the smile grew larger, he couldn’t help but smile, too.

“I love you, Stiles,” Derek said, easily, and with so much evident happiness that Stiles’ breath caught.

There was nothing he wanted to do in his life more, than to make sure Derek was always this content.

“Love you, Der,” he said, overwhelmed.

Derek leant in for a kiss, and Stiles used it to try to tell Derek without words how he was promising this: to protect him back, to love him back with everything he was, and also in spite of everything he was.

 

***

 

Stiles was making swirly patterns on Derek’s chest with his fingers, as they relaxed on the bed.

“We should talk to Deaton,” Derek said, lying with his hands behind his head.

Stiles wanted to lick his triceps which were so beautifully on display, but instead he snorted. “Um, yeah, no. And why?”

“Because we need to know how he's acquainted with the man who took you. This Brine. And I want to know why he’s here, if he’s a threat to you.”

“I just want him dead,” Stiles confessed. He was still riding his bliss-high and his brain was slightly off-line, otherwise he wouldn’t have admitted that out loud.

Derek tilted his head to look at him.

Stiles fumbled, “Uh. I mean —”

“It’s alright to want that,” Derek interrupted, assuring him. “I want that, too.”

“You do?”

“He tried to kill you.”

“Lots of people try to kill us all the time, Derek. Unfortunately, it’s normal for us.”

Derek gave a nod in acknowledging the truth of that. “Are you saying we shouldn’t want him dead?”

“Well it’s not really PC is it,” Stiles said, sarcastically.

“I’ve killed before, Stiles,” Derek reminded him. 

“I know that.”

“Does that bother you?”

Stiles didn’t need to take time to answer. “No. It doesn’t. You killed to survive and protect. They were bad people.”

“Gavin Brine is a bad person, too.”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed.

He’d lost his post-orgasmic-glow good and proper now.

“You don’t want to be the kind of person who wants someone dead?”

Stiles sat up on the bed and found one of the sheets. He placed it over his lap, trying to feel less exposed. “I’ve wanted loads of people dead, Derek. And it wasn’t just wishful thinking with no real heart behind it. Sometimes those people died, and while they may have been bad people, I’ve never felt remorse for any of it. I know exactly what kind of person I am.” 

Derek sat up, too, and lay his hand on Stiles’ knee. “What kind of person do you think you are?”

Stiles looked out of Derek’s bedroom window. The trees were calling him today and the air was warm and inviting. But he had things he needed to do. “You think we should talk to Deaton?”

Derek frowned and breathed out slowly. He rubbed his hand over Stiles’ leg. “Yeah.”

“Okay, let’s go do that then.”

Derek watched him as Stiles hunted around for his clothes. “If you want a shower you can use it first,” he offered.

Stiles held his clothes in his arms but he had no shoes, having left them at his place. “There’s a river near here, right?” He knew there was, having touched on its existence when he’d first visited Derek’s house, the bubbling flow feeling like an effervescent in his mind.

“Yes,” Derek said, slowly. He was still frowning.

Stiles squirmed a little under his scrutiny. “I’ll go there, but I’ll be back.”

Derek moved to stand next to him. “Whatever you need, Stiles.”

Stiles smiled gratefully at him. Derek ran his eyes over his body, making him aware once more that he was naked. He felt slightly uncomfortable.

Derek stepped back a little. “I’ll phone Deaton while you’re swimming and let him know we’ll meet him at his practice.”

Stiles paused, and then closed the distance between them. He leant in and kissed Derek, still holding his clothes in front of himself.

Derek made an approving noise, and gripped Stiles’ ass with his hands. 

“Come with me, Der,” Stiles invited, as he rocked into Derek’s growing hardness.

Derek's hands squeezed and pulled him closer.

“That won’t be a problem,” Derek announced, moving his mouth to the side of Stiles’ jaw and sucking on his ear lobe.

Stiles chuckled at the sensation and at Derek’s intentional misunderstanding. “I meant to the river, with me.”

“Can’t we do both?” Derek pulled Stiles’ clothes out of the way and encouraged him to wrap his hand around their dicks.

Stiles was panting slightly, in tune with Derek’s own huffs of air against his neck. “I, yeah …”

“Yeah, we can?” Derek started sucking on a mark he’d left on Stiles’ neck earlier.

The sensitive skin tingled, and Stiles groaned. His hand reflexively tightened around them both, as he dropped his head back. “Talking too much.”

Derek hummed an agreement, and helped Stiles stroke them. Derek’s hand was wider, but Stiles had longer fingers, and the whole sensation of jacking off together was intense.

His legs were wobbling, and Derek got them back on the bed where he proceeded to stick his tongue down Stiles’ throat until he was dizzy and chasing Derek’s mouth for more. His hand was still working them, with Stiles was doing his best to remember to keep flexing his fingers in tandem with Derek’s motions. 

Derek moved down to suck on one of his nipples, and Stiles reconsidered how un-sensitive he thought they were. He’d never had such a reaction before, but when Derek used teeth to scrape around the nub, his free hand running a fingernail down the other nipple, and his eyes flashing blue as he looked up at Stiles from under his eyelashes, Stiles swore as his orgasm pulsed out of him thickly and made him jerk until it was done.

Derek was coming soon after, and Stiles put his fingers to the slit of Derek’s dick to feel every pulse. He rubbed the head softly, aware it could be too sensitive, but Derek just groaned and shuddered again, curling closer to him.

Stiles was intrigued by the idea that he had Derek’s come on him; he was normally grossed out by the slippery cold mess of his own. He had a new urge to clean Derek up with his tongue but, as he’d never tasted anyone’s, settled for slowly bringing his fingers up to his mouth and resting the tips against his lips. 

Derek was watching him with hooded eyes and open mouth. 

Feeling bold, Stiles flicked his tongue out and swiped across his fingers.

“Christ, Stiles,” Derek breathed out.

Stiles was surprised he didn’t mind the taste too much, and sucked his fingers one by one, with accompanied slurping noises. 

By the time he’d finished, he was grinning, as Derek had flattened him back onto the bed and climbed on top of him to suck on his neck and grind into him even though neither of them were capable of getting hard again so soon.

Stiles pulled Derek’s head up by his hair, and they settled in to a long deep kiss that had him pushing his hips up against Derek by the end of it. He dick could only twitch in response, but that didn’t stop him. 

He broke their kiss to suck in a deep breath. “God, I wish being fae came with no refractory period!”

Derek snickered. He was in the same boat, but still they moved with each other, just enjoying the slide, although they wouldn’t be able to much longer as their come dried.

“River?” Stiles asked, not wanting to stick. “Come with me?”

“As much as I would like to, if I did, coming is all we’d do for the rest of the day,” Derek said, regretfully, climbing off him and the bed.

Stiles pouted. “So not a bad thing,” he pointed out, but got off the bed too.

Derek picked up Stiles’ dropped clothing and handed them back to him. “Deaton first.”

“And all arousal is gone,” Stiles stated, with finality.

“It needed to be done,” Derek smirked. “You’re entirely too arousing on a normal day, let alone standing naked in my bedroom.”

Stiles stumbled slightly, honestly dumbfounded by Derek’s statement.

Derek paused in finding his own clothes. “You don’t see yourself anywhere near to how other people do, do you?” he asked.

Stiles wished he didn’t blush so easily. He clutched his clothes and frowned at the floor. “I’ll go and be back soon,” he said, in reply. 

He went to walk around Derek who stopped him by wrapping him in his arms. 

When Stiles frowned at him, Derek said, “I don’t know how I got to be lucky enough for you to look my way.” He ran a hand through Stiles’ hair and cupped the back of his neck. “It’s been so hard, wanting you but not having you. And not just because you’ve got an incredible soul.”

Stiles snorted in disbelief.

“You’re unique. Stiles.”

“Well that’s true,” Stiles said, offhandedly, but stopped at Derek’s glare.

“And rare and beautiful because of it, but not just for that. Inside and out, Stiles, you’re gorgeous. Every part of you.”

Stiles didn’t for one second agree with Derek’s assessment of himself. He may have put on weight since his abduction, he may even be able to fix his hair in a way he liked most days, but Derek was seeing through rose-tinted glasses. But he didn’t mind. Even if he didn’t believe it himself, having Derek believe it made him feel good. 

He smiled, and Derek’s frown lessoned. “All right, my wolf, to you I’m amazing,” he relented.

“Beautiful, gorgeous, incredible, sexy.”

Stiles laughed, covering up his uncomfortableness at Derek’s persistence. “Okay, okay!” He extracted himself from Derek’s arms. “I’ll be back,” he promised.

Derek sighed, and shook his head. “You don’t believe me.”

“I believe that you believe it and that’s good enough,” Stiles corrected, and blew Derek a kiss as he walked out of the room.

Derek followed him and stood on the porch, as Stiles stepped, still naked, down into the sunlight. He’d leap to the river, but walk back when he was done and was wearing clothes.

“I love you, Stiles,” Derek proclaimed, just before he left.

Stiles sent him a grin. “Now that I do believe!”

 

***


	17. The Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Go. Learn things.

Stiles was recharged after his swim in the river, but he was still jittery and anxious to be outside the animal clinic knowing Deaton was inside waiting for them. 

He dug his toes into the dirt and shoved his hands under his armpits. He didn’t have any shoes on, but going without was his thing now.

“You got this, Stiles?” Derek asked.

“Probably no, but you’ve got me, so we’re as good as we’re going to get,” Stiles answered honestly.

They were about to go inside when Derek swore and held Stiles back. He was about to ask what was wrong when he heard it. Scott’s bike. Deaton must have thought he needed back-up. Smart man.

Scott parked and pulled off his helmet. “Stiles, Derek, what are you doing here?”

“Just planning on having a chat with Deaton is all,” Stiles said, innocently.

Scott opened the door to the clinic. “That why he called me in, then?”

“We couldn’t tell you why he called you, Scott,” Derek answered. “Perhaps a cat needs its nails clipped.”

Stiles choked out a surprised laugh and gently shoved Derek, as Scott led them into the clinic. Stiles opened the barrier and they went into the back examination room.

“Scott, thank you for coming in at such short notice,” Deaton said, sitting on a chair at the metal table. “Stiles, you seem better than when I saw you last.”

Stiles clenched his fists in his shirt pockets, nails biting into his palms. He didn’t say anything to Deaton, knowing all that would come out was a feral hissing noise.

Scott frowned at him. “What’s going on?” he asked. 

No one answered.

Derek crossed his arms, relaxing against one of the benches, but his eyes were fixed on Stiles. Assessing, waiting. 

Stiles was trying not to drop his glamour and hurt the druid sitting across from him. He didn’t want to start a fight, that wasn’t what he was there for. He’d talked about this with Derek, what his reaction may be towards Deaton, and Derek had made it clear he would stop him from doing anything he’d regret. 

Stiles was thinking they should have made a list, because there was a lot he was willing to do to Deaton that he wouldn’t regret too much afterwards.

Deaton was watching him, a tick in the pulse in his neck. He was nervous but hiding it well. 

Stiles tried to remember that Deaton was the man who’d helped Scott numerous times. He also tended injured and sick animals on a daily basis. He was not just a druid who cut down Stiles’ Tree and helped destroy the natural balance of an entire magical eco-system. 

Stiles had to close his eyes, knowing they were starting to glow but unable to stop the change. When he opened them, magic floated around Deaton in a webbed pattern. He’d put up a barrier before they’d gotten there.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?” Scott asked. 

Stiles managed to get his eyes to change back but he didn’t speak. 

Scott sighed in exasperation. “Would someone tell me why you three look like someone died?” He paled. “Oh, God. No one died, did they?”

Derek eyed Deaton. “Not recently,” he said, quietly.

Stiles had to hide a smile. Derek was hot when he was being intimidating. He’d provoked Derek for that very reason more than once in the past.

Deaton spared a glance for Derek and then went back to watching Stiles like he was the one to be wary of. Considering he’d branded Stiles when they last met, it was a wise move.

Finally, Stiles could speak without screaming. “How do you know Gavin Brine?”

Deaton frowned slightly. “Gavin Brine? He’s an acquaintance of mine, has been for many years.” He seemed genuinely confused as to why Stiles would be asking about him.

“Where is he?” 

Deaton’s frown grew more pronounced. “I don’t know where he is. Why do you ask?” 

Derek answered, “He’s the man who abducted Stiles.”

Scott’s mouth dropped open in surprise, and Deaton looked at Stiles sharply. “Are you sure?”

Stiles gave a tense nod.

“Have you told the police? Your father?” Deaton asked him, while looking over at Derek for confirmation.

Derek nodded.

Stiles tried not to sound too threatening as he said, “I need to know exactly how he’s connected to you; he took me because of what I am. He knew what I was.”

Scott piped up, “Are you suggesting Deaton helped him?”

“I’m asking if he did, yes.” 

“He would never!”

“Actually, Scott,” Deaton interrupted him, “to Stiles’ detriment, I may have done just that.”

Stiles clenched his jaw tight at Deaton’s confession, and Derek growled softly. 

“What? Deaton, there’s no way you would have helped to hurt Stiles!” Scott paused, his eyes holding disbelief. “Is there?”

“Not on purpose, no.” Deaton shook his head. “But unintentionally, I may have.”

“Explain yourself,” Derek growled at him through his fangs. 

Scott moved slightly. “Derek, don’t,” he warned.

Derek spared Scott a glance. His fangs disappeared though his eyes stayed blue. “You’d better have a very good reason,” he said darkly, and with mistrust.

Deaton sighed. “I will say upfront and firstly, Stiles, that I apologize for my role in your terrible ordeal. Gavin is an old acquaintance, husband to a friend.”

“He killed his wife,” Stiles spat.

Deaton nodded sadly. “I hoped it wasn’t true. His wife, Sara, and I grew up together. I heard she’d been killed alongside her daughter, and I couldn’t believe Gavin had done it. When he got in contact with me and told me it wasn’t as it appeared, I gave him the benefit of the doubt.”

“Why?” Stiles asked, bitter. “Did turning him in sound so bad to you?”

“Not everything is always as it seems, is it, Stiles? Not everyone understands that sometimes, the law, human law, can’t deal with the things we know can occur.”

“His family was killed by the supernatural?” Scott asked, appalled.

“That is what he led me to believe. He came seeking my advice about certain supernatural creatures, those he said were responsible. He wanted to know how to find them, how to contain them.” Deaton cast a glance in Stiles’ direction. “How to kill them. I gave him the knowledge I had.”

Stiles felt sick. “He said fae killed his wife and daughter,” he guessed.

“Yes.”

“You showed him how to find me. He tortured me with the methods you taught him.” Stiles swallowed and took a moment to compose himself. “He said he was using me to learn things. I was his experiment. I was the trial run before he went after his true prey.”

“God, Stiles,” Scott whispered.

“I am ashamed by my involvement, Stiles. I will go to the police and give them the information I possess about Gavin,” Deaton told him.

“What will that be, exactly?” Stiles asked. “They’ll ask you how you know who he is and what he did to me, why you didn’t say anything before. Did you help him, how did you help him?” 

Deaton had no answer to that. 

Stiles took a little bit of pleasure in Deaton being stumped. “Or, you can give me everything you have on him.”

“What are you going to do?” Scott asked.

“Nothing good,” growled Derek, and Stiles silently agreed.

“You can’t kill someone, Stiles! Derek, don’t support him in this!”

Even though the thought was there, Stiles wasn’t actually sure he’d go ahead with it. He hadn’t worked out what he’d do. It was one thing for Stiles to know how dark he was inside, but did Scott really think so little of him? 

“Why did you think the first thing I’d do was kill him?” Stiles couldn’t help the hurt that bubbled up. “I haven’t actually killed anyone, Scott, ever. Have you forgotten that?”

Scott shook his head slowly, his eyes shadowed, obviously thinking of the past. But he rallied, and said, “You can’t start now.”

“Who said I was going to? That’s your assumption.”

Deaton interrupted. “I will give you the information I have, though I doubt it will help you find him.”

“What?” Scott said. “Deaton! Don’t help him!”

“To do what, Scott?” Derek asked.

Scott spluttered before he composed himself. “I don’t want you in the position where you have to make that choice, Stiles. It’s not that I believe you’re planning on doing it. I just don’t want it to be an option.”

Stiles rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Neither do I,” he agreed.

“And I will tell you, precisely because of that,” Deaton explained. “I’ll get the address he gave me the last time he was here.” He stood and went to his desk to flip through a diary.

Derek frowned and stood close enough to Stiles that they were touching along their sides. “There’s something that doesn’t add up. You may not have known it was Stiles he was going to take, but you must have worked out what had happened to him.”

Deaton put the diary down on the cabinet top and placed his hands on the metal.

Derek took a hold of Stiles’ elbow. “What you said when you came to his house. You knew he was fae. You’d worked it out, you knew what Gavin did to him.”

Stiles flinched violently, he hadn’t made that connection. “You knew who took me, all this time? You knew and said nothing? What was that just now? Acting confused as to why we were here? He’s been to my house! He’s been watching me! You could have told the police! You could have told my dad!”

Stiles opened up his magic, feeling it reach along Deaton’s protection web. He knew he could unravel it; Deaton was no magical being like Stiles was, for all he was druid. There was a prickling in the air, filled with intent. Stiles had never used his magic against a person for more than trickery in the forests, but he was pretty sure he could do some major damage if he tried.

Derek placed an arm around his middle and pulled Stiles back against him. He whispered soothing noises into his ear. Stiles could have laughed at his gentle handling because Derek’s claws were out and he was certain Derek would like a chance to show Deaton how unimpressed he was with him.

Deaton squared his shoulders, undoubtedly aware what Stiles was doing with his magic. “I didn’t want to believe it. I convinced myself it was coincidence what happened to you, Stiles. You were not the one that killed Sara or Zoe, so why would Gavin take you? I never thought it was to make sure my information worked properly.”

“But you still gave it to him!” Stiles yelled. “You thought it was okay to help kill fae! You thought it was okay to help kill me!”

“No! Never you, Stiles! I care about all of you,” Deaton tried to reason. “I protect all of you.”

“No,” Stiles disagreed. “You don’t. Not me. Even when I came back, you let yourself believe what was easier for you. He’s still here. He’s been watching my house.”

Deaton was startled by that. “I didn’t know,” he began.

“Save it for someone who believes you.” Stiles was suddenly tired off all of this. He wanted to go home.

“Give Scott the details you’ve got on him,” Derek told Deaton gruffly. He kept a hand on Stiles’ back as they walked out of the building. 

They’d taken Derek’s car to the clinic; a crappy little rental he’d brought round to the service road while Stiles had been swimming. One drive in it and Stiles hated it. He wished he'd driven to Derek's earlier rather than sunlight-leaping, then they'd be using the jeep rather than Derek's death-trap-on-wheels.

Before they got in the car, Scott came out. “Stiles!”

“What now?” Stiles was not in the mood for Scott’s need to find the good in everyone. 

Scott stopped, evidently hurt by his tone. He was holding a slip of paper. “I’ll check this place out for you. And I’m sorry.”

“You’re not the douchebag in this scenario, Scott. We’re cool,” Stiles told him and squeezed into the passenger seat of the rental.

Scott caught the door before it could close. “No, Stiles. Sorry that Deaton screwed you over.”

“You’re not going to support his actions? Defend him?” Derek asked, skeptically.

“No. What he did was seriously wrong. I’ll help you however you need me to. We’ll find this guy.”

“And then what?” Stiles asked. 

“I don’t know.” Scott shrugged. “Do what we always do.”

“Pretend we know what we’re doing and hope for the best?” Stiles asked, somewhat self-deprecatingly.

Scott smiled, “I was going to say go ahead with whatever your plan is and then when that fails, make it up as we go along.”

“That’s what I just said,” Stiles argued, but he was smiling a little, too.

“Well then,” Derek started the car. “Now we just have to work out how to explain this to your dad.”

Stiles stared at him, and he scoffed. “You don’t think that maybe one of the people we know who is on the right side of the law, carries legal firearms, has the ability to arrest people and is your father, should be told about all of this?”

“Well, when you put it like that.”

“Yeah,” Scott agreed.

“That’s what I thought,” Derek smirked.

Stiles rolled his eyes at Scott in regards to Derek’s smugness. 

Scott let go off the door, allowing Stiles to close it. “Hey, I’m not the one thinking he’s cute in tight jeans!” he said, offhandedly.

Stiles’ heart gave a jolt and he narrowing his eyes at Scott. “Dude,” he warned.

“Who thinks who is cute in tight jeans?” Derek said, knowingly, a teasing quality in his tone.

Stiles kept his face averted from him, glaring at Scott. “No one. No one thinks anything about any kind of jeans, tight or not. Isn’t that right, Scott?”

“Um, yeah. I’m sure I meant in no jeans!” Scott said, helpfully. 

Stiles closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them again, Scott gave him an apologetic half-smile, and Stiles shook his head at him. 

After Derek had reversed out of the carpark and was on the road, Stiles risked a quick look at him, finding him stoic-faced and staring out the front window. Stiles deemed it safe enough to turn around to face the front a little better.

Derek shot him a sly smile. “I like it when you’re not wearing jeans, too.”

Stiles thanked his lucky stars that he wasn’t driving right then, as he flailed in surprise and whacked his hand against the dashboard and then the door. Stupid reflexes. Being fae could have given him the ability to remain calm and smooth, but he’d missed that bus by a spectacular mile. It also didn’t help that Derek’s rental was the size of a mouse and obviously not designed for people who tended to move a lot.

Derek had quirked his brows at him, watching his reaction. “Stiles, we’ve seen each other naked and have had sex, why are you embarrassed right now?”

Stiles had no idea why. He shrugged and rubbed at his hand. “Technically, it could be said we haven’t actually had sex, and I don’t know. I get like that when talking about us.”

“Us, you and me, us?”

“No, me and the other werewolf I’m seeing on the side. Yes, you and me, us!”

Derek raised his eyes to the roof of the car, and let out a breath. “Never knew you to be the shy type when it came to relationship stuff.” He sounded concerned.

“I’m not,” Stiles huffed out.

He didn’t like this new development either. He tapped his fingers on his knees, unable to alleviate his growing nervous energy in such close confines. 

Derek was frowning now. He went to say something else, but Stiles interrupted him. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

Derek’s frown darkened. “Okay.”

“Good.” Stiles turned to look out the window. “I just want to go home.”

“You want me to drive you to your house?” Derek asked for clarification. 

“No.” Stiles glanced at him in confusion. “I said your place, but if you want to drop me off, you can.”

Derek gave him a strange look, staring for long enough that Stiles was going to mention how the driver should pay attention to where they’re going so they don’t inadvertently injure the other occupants in the car by having an accident. But as he opened his mouth Derek looked out the front window. 

“We’ll go home, then.”

“That’s what I said!” 

 

***

 

Derek stopped off at the store for urgently needed groceries while Stiles had stayed in the rental car from hell and rested. He hadn’t been up to going into the store, so he slumped against the car door and closed his eyes, ignoring the iron pressing up against his side. Derek had been super quick and reappeared, bags in tow, just before he started to doze off.

Derek told him he was making him a meal when they got home. Stiles was touched. He’d been trying to forget his feelings about Deaton’s continued ability to be an asshole, and sharing a meal with Derek would go a long way in helping with that. 

Stiles looked over at him, going to thank him, but instead had an overwhelming need to make out with Derek right then and there. After a quick glance around the store’s carpark, making sure no one was watching, Stiles leant over, grabbed a surprised Derek and proceeded to kiss him with everything he had. 

When he’d finally stopped and sat back in his seat, Derek blinked slowly for a while and clenched his hands around the car’s steering wheel. He cast Stiles several heated glances while he turned the keys in the ignition, but hadn’t said a word. His not-so-subtle press of a hand against his crotch to readjust himself had Stiles smiling smugly.

The drive to Derek’s was one of speed, and Stiles was almost vibrating out of his skin when they pulled up at the end of the side-road.

He was getting out of the car when his phone rang. It had been so long since he’d answered a call that at first he didn’t connect the sound to what it actually was. That, and he was contemplating getting Derek out of his clothes and back into bed.

Derek asked, “Are you going to answer that?” and leant tensely against the side of the car.

He looked immensely fuckable right then; horny and beautiful, and Stiles kept his eyes on him as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

It was Scott. 

“Hey, man, what’s up?” Stiles asked, still eyeing Derek.

“Stiles! I’m at the hospital, Mom called me,” Scott said, urgently. “I did something really stupid, please don’t hate me!”

Stiles turned his whole attention to the phone call. “What did you do, Scott?” It couldn’t be good. Whenever Scott started by telling Stiles not to hate him, it was never good. 

Scott made a slight whimpering noise before replying, “I gave Deaton’s information on that Brine guy to your dad.”

Stiles frowned. “Isn’t that what we said we’d do?”

“Yeah, but, Stiles —”

“What, Scott? Just spit it out already.”

“I may have gotten your dad a bit riled up about things. And then there was a sighting of Brine near the same address. Stiles, your dad and Parrish went out to get him.”

Something dropped in his chest. “What are you saying? My dad?”

“He’s been taken, Stiles. There was an ambush or something. Brine got them. He put two other officers in the hospital —”

Scott was saying something else, but Stiles couldn’t hear him. His ears wear ringing, and when Derek grabbed the phone off him, he just stood there. It took Derek shaking him for his hearing to come back with a rushing sound. 

“Stiles! Come on, Scott said to meet him at the hospital.” 

Stiles looked at him stupidly. 

“Snap out of it!” Derek growled at him. 

Stiles blinked, and frowned. 

Derek grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him, kept kissing him until Stiles had to pull away to breathe. 

“Back with me?”

Stiles swallowed, and looked around. “Yeah,” he said shakily, and coughed. “Yeah.”

“Okay, let’s get going.”

Stiles climbed back into the car and Derek floored it to the hospital. During the ride, Stiles kept rubbing and pressing the heel of his hand against his chest. He had a cold hard pain that wouldn’t go away.

When Derek pulled up at the hospital, Stiles grabbed him before he jumped out of the car. Derek stopped and looked him over.

“Stiles?”

His hand where it held Derek was shaking. He’d had the shakes when he’d first come home from the hospital, and a few times since then.

“PTSD,” he mumbled, understanding now. “Induced shock.”

He’d never had it so bad though. There was a blackness inside that wanted to swallow him. It teased at the corners of his mind.

Derek jumped out of the car to get around to Stiles’ door. He pulled it open, and cradled Stiles’ jaw. 

Just that point of contact had Stiles giving a shaky sigh and angrily brushing his tears away. 

“I’ve got you,” Derek told him. “You’re strong, you know. You can help your dad through this, just like you’ve helped all of us countless times before. I know you’ve got bad history with this guy, but push through it, Stiles. Focus on something that helps. Focus on your dad.”

“Focus on my dad,” Stiles repeated. “Focus on you.” The pain in his chest eased up somewhat as he looked directly at Derek. 

Derek leaned in to kiss him. When he pulled back he gave Stiles an encouraging look. “We’ve got this.”

Stiles followed him into the hospital to find Scott.

 

***

 

“Why don’t you have any shoes?” was the first thing Melissa said to Stiles after she gave him a hug.

He looked down at his feet and shuffled them on the hospital linoleum. “I forgot,” was all he got out before Melissa was frowning at him in concern.

“I’ll find you some slippers, or something,” she promised him, and after a shared look with Scott, left them alone in an empty corridor. 

Stiles was aware he probably didn’t look too good right now, as he didn’t feel all that great and couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked in the mirror. He’d swam earlier so at least he felt clean, but he was quite likely giving off his hobo-vibe again. He tried to check his reflection in one of the internal door windows and Derek grabbed him by the elbow as he started to wander off. He gravitated back to Derek’s side.

“Stiles, you listening?” Scott asked.

Stiles blinked, and tried to remember what Scott had been saying. He held on to the edge of Derek’s shirt, focussing on the fabric, and Derek’s hand on his arm.

“Something about the deputes?” he answered, then grimaced, as both Derek and Scott looked at him. “Sorry, I’m fine. I’m listening. Keep talking.”

Scott continued to watch him, as he said, “They’re unconscious, but don’t have any other injuries. Mom said the doctors don’t know why they haven’t woken up yet.”

“Deaton would know,” Stiles cut in.

The frown Scott had been leveling at him since he arrived got deeper.

“What? It makes sense,” Stiles continued. “Brine’s got magic. He was married to a druid, he could have learnt some druid things, like how to knock people out and incapacitate a sheriff and his depute. Deaton’s a druid, ergo, he’d know.”

“How do you know Brine’s wife was a druid?” Derek asked.

It was Stiles’ turn to be nonplused. He tried to remember why he thought that. Sometimes his brain made leaps of logic that didn’t follow the evidence. It made explaining difficult.

“Deaton said he grew up with her. Deaton’s a druid, I just assumed she was too. Then it would make sense if Brine thought the fae killed her.”

Scott and Derek shared a look.

“Again, Stiles, you’re going to have to explain that reasoning, too,” Derek told him.

“Because of the Nemeton.” Stiles rubbed at his eyes. He was having some serious issues with headaches lately. 

“Stiles, come sit down and then tell us from the beginning what’s going on,” Derek said, slowly.

Stiles gave him a confused look. “I just did, but okay.” 

He sat on one of the corridor chairs and absently rubbed at his chest where it still hurt. He rocked his foot as he listened to Derek ask Scott to go find Melissa. Derek sat down next to him and placed a hand on his knee, stopping the jiggling. 

Stiles looked at Derek and was floored again by how beautiful this man was, inside and out, and how concerned he was for him. He wished there weren’t so many things about him to cause Derek to worry. 

He reached up a finger and pushed on one of Derek’s eyebrows. Derek’s frown raised in surprise for a second.

“Frowny McFrowns-a-lot,” Stiles said. “The wind will make your face stay like that if you’re not careful. And you have a beautiful face, Der, you don’t need extra worry lines. Not because of me, anyway.”

Derek’s frown deepened instead of lessoning, and Stiles tutted at him. 

Melissa came through the doors with Scott and eyed Stiles. She squatted down in front of him and took his wrist in her hand. She glanced at her pocket watch, and said, “Stiles, hon, can you tell me what you told Scott just before?”

“Why would you need to know?” Stiles asked.

“Answer the question, Stiles,” Melissa said, in her no-nonsense-mom voice.

“Brine is using druid magic to hold my dad and Parrish hostage. He learnt it from his wife.” Stiles looked up at Scott. “You should ask Deaton, he’ll tell you I’m right.”

“I will,” Scott agreed.

Melissa shone a light in Stiles’ eyes when he looked back at her. “Ow! Okay! Blind a guy!” He turned away, rubbing his eyes.

Melissa looked at Derek and motioned with her head. Derek placed a hand under Stiles’ arm and got him standing. Stiles’ headache throbbed and the pain in his chest got worse. He pressed his hand to it, willing it to go away.

“Is your chest hurting, Stiles?”

He dropped his hand. “No.”

“Honey, I’ve known you since you adopted my son and I’m also a nurse. Don’t lie to me when I ask you a health question.”

They were walking into a private room and Stiles was placed on the bed. He squinted at Melissa. “Fine, I have slight discomfort.”

“Yes or no, Stiles.” Melissa was serious. “Does you head hurt?”

Stiles stopped rubbing his forehead. “Yes,” he sighed.

“Hard pain right here?” she pointed to the middle of her chest.

“Yes.”

“Do you feel drowsy or exhausted?”

“Yes.”

“When did you start noticing the chest pain?”

“Right after ...” He stopped.

Derek sat down next to him and picked up where Stiles left off. “It came on after Scott phoned and told him about his dad. He got shaky, too, and seemed disorientated. He said it was PTSD induced shock.”

“Able to diagnose yourself, Stiles?” Melissa sent him a wry smile. She had a worried look on her face. “I don’t have anything I feel comfortable giving you.”

“We’ve been here before,” he agreed sadly.

Melissa pushed back the hair on his forehead gently, and Stiles smiled, resigned, and oddly comfortable to just be sitting with Derek. He should be doing something right now to help his dad, but his body was so heavy. 

Scott asked his mom what was wrong with him, while Stiles leant into Derek’s side. 

“He’s suffering from acute stress reaction. Right now, I’m concerned about his chest pains. Stiles, are you wanting to sleep?”

Stiles nodded, and Melissa urged Derek to lay him down on the bed. They covered him up with a bed sheet. He turned on his side and pressed one hand to his chest and the other to his eyes. 

“I’ll have him hooked up to oxygen and we’ll monitor his heart and vitals. It’s not uncommon with PTSD to have attacks that you end up in the hospital for. It's a good thing you brought him in, Derek.”

“We came in to see Scott. I didn’t realize how bad it was getting.” 

“Did it start when we were at Deaton’s?” Scott asked.

“This latest part? I think as soon as he learnt the name of the guy who took him,” Derek answered.

“How did he find that out?” Scott asked.

Stiles lost the thread of the conversation for a bit. He drifted, then suddenly his eyes jolted open. He sat up, startling the three of them. “Did we work out how to help my dad?” he asked. He went to swing his legs over the side of the bed but was held back by Derek.

“Lie down, Stiles. We’ve got this,” Derek said. 

Stiles nodded, and lay back down. “We need to find him, Der.”

“We will. Just rest for now, okay?”

“I don’t like it here.” Stiles tried to sit up again.

Melissa got his attention, as Derek held him. “You need to stay put for now, Stiles. Derek’s going to stay with you.”

Derek nodded when Stiles looked at him. All of a sudden all the fight went out of him. “Okay,” he agreed. 

Derek lay down in the bed with him.

“Better?” Melissa asked.

Stiles nodded into Derek’s chest and closed his eyes. “My dad,” he mumbled.

“He’ll be okay,” Derek promised.

 

***

 

When Stiles woke up he was certain that too much time had passed and was angry at himself for having fallen asleep when his dad needed him. He was hooked up to an oxygen tube which he removed from under his nose and there were a few monitor pads he ripped off from inside the top of his shirt on his chest. He expected Melissa to come in pretty soon after he did this, but he needed to be up and doing something.

Derek was still wrapped around him, and even though he wanted to get going, Stiles took a moment to appreciate his heavy presence and the warmth and safety that came from being in his arms.

Stiles still couldn’t believe he’d managed to wrangle Derek’s attention, let alone his love. He wasn’t doubting that Derek loved him, he’d never doubt that again, but he still couldn’t work out how it had happened.

He managed to stay still for a few seconds more before he was extraditing himself out from under Derek’s hold. He found the promised slippers waiting for him at the end of the hospital bed and was putting them on when Derek opened his eyes and sat up. 

“Hey,” Stiles said. He meant: Thanks for staying with me while I rode the crazy train for the nth time.

“Hey,” Derek said back. 

Melissa opened the door and walked in right before Stiles could ask Derek what they were doing about finding his dad. 

“Stiles,” Melissa warned him.

Stiles held up his hands in surrender. “I haven’t done anything! I just woke up,” he promised.

Melissa smiled thinly and proceeded to check his vitals and ask him a few questions which he managed to answer correctly. Her smile was happier when she said, “You’re good to go, I’d say don’t do anything too stressful, but we know how silly it would be for me to say that.”

Stiles gave her a rueful look but said nothing. He was already developing numerous plans for how to find Brine, but first he had to talk to Scott.

When he walked outside the hospital he had a disorientated moment because it was night time.

“How long did I sleep?”

Derek looked back at him over his shoulder as he walked around the front of his rental. “Around six hours.”

Stiles wanted to complain loudly for letting him sleep, but after a panic attack or PTSD episode he had no say in how long it took to recover. He was grumbling when he got into the car though, and Derek wisely said nothing.

Stiles was annoyed he’d lost it when he’d been told Brine had taken his dad. He would do what Derek had said; he’d push through the numbness that was sitting in the back of his head and focus on getting his dad home.

 

***

 

Scott had gotten more information while Stiles slept. Almost the entire police station were out in their cruisers and working on leads to find their missing sheriff and depute. Scott had dropped by Stiles’ house and used the police radio in the jeep to keep up with their movements before he’d headed over to the animal clinic to ask Deaton about Stiles’ assumptions.

He’d been spot on in his evaluation; Deaton had confirmed it. Brine’s wife, Sara, had been a druid. 

When Scott had told Deaton of the unconscious police in the hospital, he’d shown Scott how it was accomplished. Scott was in the middle of explaining it to Stiles, while Stiles fiddled with a plastic baggie.

“It’s a lot like mountain ash, but when it surrounds someone they pass out.”

“But don’t immediately wake up when they leave the circle or it’s broken?” Stiles asked as he held the bag up to the light. 

Scott nodded. 

The powder Stiles was looking at was very fine and bright blue. He thought it looked like someone had ground up the cornish pixies from Harry Potter. He put it back down on the table. “What’s it made from?” 

“Deaton didn’t say.”

Stiles snorted, and said, sarcastically, “Why am I not in the least surprised he was secretive about something that could be helpful?” 

Scott gave him a reproving look which Stiles replied to with a shrug.

Derek was sitting next to Stiles and took control of the conversation. “Lydia said she and Malia would be here in the morning.”

Stiles took a moment to berate himself, then asked, “Fill me in on where everyone is?” He gave Scott a chagrined look. “I know. I’m the suckiest friend in the universe.”

Scott was understanding. “When we couldn’t find you in the preserve and you made it clear you didn’t want us there, —”

Stiles winced. His fae tricks were good at luring people away.

“— Malia went with Lydia to check out her college.”

Stiles tried to remember the colleges Lydia had been interested in but came up blank. God, he really did suck as her friend. He hadn’t even spoken to her since he came back. Not even a phone call. At least he’d see her in a few hours. And Malia, too.

“What about Kira? Where is she?” Stiles asked. 

Scott’s face fell somewhat, and Stiles was instantly concerned. “Bro? What happened?”

“Kira left town with her parents. Something about starting again and Kira learning about her heritage. They went to Japan.”

“Dude.” 

Scott lowered his head. “We ended things.”

His decision to stay in Beacon Hills suddenly made so much more sense to Stiles.

Scott rallied himself. “But that’s not what we’re here for. I know we’ve got the stuff Brine used to knock everyone out but how are we going to find him?” He looked at Stiles expectantly.

Stiles decided to go with the most logical of his ideas. “Brine blames the fae for his families’ death, doesn’t matter right now if it’s true or not. I know he was there when I was in the preserve. He was skulking around until I made him fall down a cliff.”

“You pushed him off a cliff?” Scott asked, with slight horror.

“That’s not what I said, Scott. I tricked him into falling off it, and in my defense it was a small cliff and he didn’t die.” 

Stiles paused and sorted out what he wanted to say next. They weren’t going to like it. 

“He’s been at my house, he took my dad. So he’s still interested in me —”

“Stiles, no,” Derek interrupted, working out where Stiles was going.

He continued over Derek’s protest, “— so we give him what he wants. We use me as bait to catch him.”

 

***


	18. The Gain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you do when there's something you don't want to think about? Do something to take your mind off of it.

Unsurprisingly, neither Scott nor Derek had agreed to Stiles’ idea of being bait, and they were hoping to use Lydia and Malia to talk some sense into him. But even four against one wasn’t going to change his mind. His dad and Parrish had been taken hours ago and Stiles was hoping all that had happened to them was a mild headache from being knocked out by ground-up pixie bits.

It was late in the night when Scott got a call and headed to the airport to pick up Lydia and Malia in his mom’s car. He’d be a few hours and in that time Derek drove Stiles back to his home for a change of clothes.

Being in the house without his dad was as bad as the time he’d been taken by the Darach. Worse in a way, because Stiles had first-hand experience and knew there was very little Brine wasn’t willing to do to someone. Just dwelling on that had him shaking, the numbness in the back of his mind wanting to expand. He needed to focus on something else. 

He focused on Derek. 

It worked quite well, and Stiles was able to keep himself relatively sane as he picked up everything he needed.

They were driving back to Derek’s, still in his crap car, when Stiles asked, “Where do you park this thing when you’re not using it?” There was no road into Derek’s place, no driveway.

“At the closest ranger’s outpost most times, with permission, but sometimes I use one of the back roads. It’s only a rental so I’m not overly worried about it.”

“That’s got to be annoying,” Stiles mused.

“Yeah, but no one can drive up to my house,” Derek pointed out. “They need to walk in. Gives me more time if someone’s coming.”

Stiles was sad Derek had to compromise like that, give up basic living standards to make attacking his home harder for those who wanted to. But he understood. 

“Why this car? No offense, but it’s not you and it sucks.”

Derek sent him a wry look. “It serves a purpose, nothing more. I don’t care what happens to it.”

Something in his tone made Stiles clamped down on his next question, well aware of Derek’s difficulties with loss.

He sat back in his seat and ran his eyes over Derek as he drove, recalling how he’d used Derek to keep from having a panic attack at his house. A small smile tugged at his mouth.

When Stiles had been home, he’d come to a decision and then worked single-mindedly towards that goal. Closing the door to the bathroom, he’d taken time to prepare himself, focussing ahead to what he wanted to happen. He’d cleaned himself up and fingered himself, relaxing into the sensation and imagining that if he did everything right, his fingers would be replaced by Derek in a few hours. It had helped that Derek was in the living room and more than likely had a pretty good idea Stiles was getting himself off in the bathroom. He’d had to stop and calm down before he came across the sink, or before he asked Derek to join him. 

Derek looked good behind the wheel of his crappy little car. He looked even better behind the wheel of Stiles’ jeep. Or just in his jeep full stop. It was the entirely possessive part of Stiles that liked the idea, but every other part of him was on board with the assessment. Derek was gorgeously his and Stiles wanted.

Derek looked over and quirked an eyebrow at him. Stiles had no idea what was showing on his face, but he bet it wasn’t as innocent as he wanted it to be. He started to daydream about sliding over and kissing up Derek’s neck. He’d run his hands up under Derek’s shirt and feel all of those incredible muscles move under his fingers. In his fantasy, the steering wheel wasn’t there and he was able to fit his leg over Derek’s and rock his groin into Derek’s hip while his hand got into his pants. 

Stiles had fantasied about Derek many times, but he’d never gotten the opportunity while he was right in front of him. Derek started to squirm a bit under his silent scrutiny.

Finally, Derek ground out, “Stiles,” like a plea and warning at the same time. He didn’t tell Stiles to stop, though. 

Stiles was aware he was stinking up the jeep with his arousal but all he did was smile and slouch down as much as he was able to, letting his hands frame his crotch in wordless invitation. He’d never played this game before but he found he liked it a lot, as Derek swore under his breath when he cast a glance at Stiles from under his eyelashes.

Stiles moved his fingers slowly, petting himself, as he thought about touching Derek, opening up his jeans and dropping down, using his mouth to bring him off. It was a reoccurring idea, still new and slightly unnerving, but his mouth watered and he swallowed audibly. 

“Fuck, Stiles!” Derek complained, but again said nothing else. He shifted in his seat and Stiles spared a thought to how uncomfortable he must feel in such tight jeans, even if they were the lovely soft faded ones Stiles wanted to rub his hands over.

He spared a glance out the front windscreen. They were on the service road, nearing where they would have to stop. He leant over slowly, closing the distance between them, watching Derek’s knuckles tighten further on the steering wheel. Derek swallowed hard as he rubbed his nose along the side of Derek’s jaw up to his ear. He placed one hand on Derek’s thigh and his jeans were buttery smooth, just like he thought they’d be. He squeezed and rubbed the muscle there and was rewarded with Derek grunting and letting his legs fall open. Stiles ignored the silent plea, he didn’t want to be in an accident because of a hand job.

Derek swore and stopped the car suddenly. Stiles rocked sideways into the dash. They’d got to the end of the road.

Derek rounded on him. “Jesus, Stiles!” he exclaimed, and proceeded to swallow Stiles’s mouth in a desperate needy kiss that just went on and on. 

Derek’s hands were wondering everywhere they could reach, and Stiles was getting flashes of warmth and feelings of love-need-want from every touch, making him want to tumble over into the back seat and let Derek have his way with him, but he had plans and this car was way too small.

His plans included doing things he’d had in the back of his mind since he’d first seen the fireplace and snuggled under that lovely blanket with Derek’s scent on it. Malia had once complained he liked to engage in his tactile responses a bit too much during sex, rather than just getting to the good part, but he was always of the mindset of why not use every sense you had in order to enjoy the experience that much more?

He was hoping Derek would like it too and as he was currently sniffing at Stiles’ neck like he was the most fragrant of roses, Stiles thought he may be right and Derek was as hedonistic as he was. His wolf liked to scent him and he liked to touch. They would work brilliantly together. 

But to do what Stiles wanted, they needed to make it out of the car first.

He managed to get Derek to look at him. “Beautiful”, he murmured, and almost forgot what he was trying to accomplish. 

Derek moved in to kiss him again, and Stiles held him back. “Wait! Inside would be better! Not inside this thing, although I do have a few thousand fantasies involving my jeep which we can totally revisit at a later date, but inside the house, your house, would be better now.”

Derek didn’t say anything but was out of the car faster than Stiles could blink, and looking at him expectantly. Stiles fell out of his side and had an awkward moment where he had to shuffle up onto the house porch with a hard-on that could batter down walls. 

He didn’t know how Derek managed to move with such dignity when it was obvious he was just as effected as Stiles was. But there he was, holding the front door open, staring at Stiles like he wanted to eat him.

When Stiles reached the door he evaded Derek’s grasping hands and gave him what he hoped was a enigmatic smile. “Not yet,” was all he said, and patted Derek’s chest. He left Derek standing in the entrance way while he walked towards the couch.

While Derek watched, Stiles grabbed the blankets neatly stacked near the fireplace and arranged them on the floor, then he picked up the green blanket they’d snuggled under earlier and lay it over the top. Stiles ran his hands over it and breathed in deep, letting the heady scent of Derek invade his senses. 

He stood and looked over at Derek, who’d walked closer as Stiles created his blanket bed. “Come here, my wolf,” he said, and held out his hand.

Derek moved without hesitation and kneeled before him on the blankets, leaning forward to rest his head against Stiles’ stomach. He ran his hands up the back of Stiles' legs and clenched his ass. He rubbed his nose against the front of Stiles' jeans and inhaled, pressing closer as Stiles' breath hitched and his dick twitched under Derek's scenting.

Derek murmured, “Stiles,” and looked beseechingly up at him, his eyes dilated, pupils wide and black.

Stiles folded onto his knees and kissed him. Then he and Derek were moving, ridding themselves of clothing until it was just skin on skin. They lay down on the blanket bed, Stiles’ nerves on overdrive as he rubbed against the blanket and Derek’s hard smooth muscles. Then it was all heat, stroking, kissing, and a tangle of limbs until Stiles was humping air, perilously close to coming, as Derek sucked a hickey onto his stomach, one hand stroking the skin of Stiles’ inner thigh, the other rubbing circles over a nipple. 

“Please, please, please,” Stiles begged, his eyes shut against the sight of Derek’s mouth being so close to his dick.

Derek left off tonguing Stiles’ belly button and rested his cheek against it. His hands lay still against chest and leg, as Stiles breathed out and came down from the edge. He opened his eyes and glanced down, catching Derek looking back up at him. There was a gleam in Derek’s eyes that made him preen, because he’d done that, he’d put that look there.

Derek snorted, sensing his pride. “Good to keep going?” he asked, turning his mouth to kiss skin.

Stiles curled the fingers of one hand through the hair at Derek’s temple. “Yeah.” He didn’t want to end this too soon and was thankful Derek had stopped it from happening. “You?”

Derek nodded, pulled himself up, and proceeded to kiss over Stiles’ eyelids, across the bridge of his nose and down to his mouth. His kisses were soft, gentle, reverent. Stiles tried to copy him kiss for kiss as he kept his fingers massaging through Derek’s hair.

Derek was almost purring when he pulled back. He knelt between Stiles’ legs and with a cheeky grin, reached forward and tugged Stiles up into his lap so he was straddling him, his dick rubbing up under Stiles as he settled across Derek’s legs. 

Stiles moaned at the feel of the Derek’s dick nudging at the fragile skin around his hole and reached down to rub his fingers over it, making Derek groan and push up into his hand. He was wet with precum and Stiles’ fingers slipped, a nail catching on the foreskin. Derek shuddered and groaned.

“Sorry! Sorry,” Stiles apologized, soothing by rubbing his thumb in small circles.

“God, enough! Stop!” Derek choked out, and caught his wrist, moving his hand away. Stiles smirked unrepentantly, while Derek glared at him. “Keep doing that and it will be over too soon,” he warned.

Stiles replied by humming and pushing his ass down against Derek’s dick, rubbing against it wantonly. He groaned out against Derek’s ear, “Fuck me.”

“Jesus, Stiles!” Derek caught his hips.

Stiles nibbled down Derek’s neck then went back to kissing his mouth.

He’d had been fantasizing about having sex with Derek for ages and had experimented on himself enough to know what he could handle. It had been a while since he’d had anything bigger than fingers inside him though and he was slightly wary because this was full on sex, in his ass, with another male. A first for him. Exciting and nerve wracking all at once. He may have been overcompensating for his jitters by pushing things along. 

He wasn’t surprised by how much he wanted Derek inside of him; he’d dreamt about it enough. But he was caught off guard by how right everything felt. It was like every part of him agreed down to an atomic level that he was supposed to be here, be with Derek. 

“Pants,” Stiles breathed out around Derek’s lips, “pocket, lube.”

Derek pulled back far enough to fish around for Stiles’ pants. He found the lube and a line of condoms. He raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Stiles questioned, a smile on his lips. “You think I’m not going to be prepared here? Been planning and fantasizing long enough, Der.”

Derek laughed. “Guess I got stuck on the fantasizing part,” he admitted.

“You thought about me?” Stiles asked, pleased to hear it.

“All, the, damn, time.” Derek punctuated each word by sucking on Stiles’ skin, down his neck to his chest and around one nipple. 

Stiles still wasn’t used to the reaction he had when Derek touched him there. He felt electrified and bit back a shocked noise. 

Derek hummed, “Like that?” He did it again.

“Yes!” Stiles replied, and clawed at Derek’s shoulders. 

Derek reached for the condoms and checked them over.

“Right size?” Stiles asked. He’d had to guess, but thought he’d got it correct.

“Hmm,” Derek answered. “Do I want to know how you knew?”

“Okay, Der, I’ll admit. I caught glances here and there. And yes, I was looking,” Stiles laughed, not in the least embarrassed. “It wasn’t difficult, especially when you paraded naked in front of me.” 

Derek said, dryly, “I’m pleased you noticed.”

“How could I not?”

“I wasn’t sure if you had."

Stiles quirk an eyebrow. “Wait, was it on purpose?”

It was Derek’s turn to laugh. “I’ve wanted you to see me for months, Stiles. I was getting desperate. I was seriously thinking of turning up in your back yard wrapped in nothing but a bow.”

Stiles rocked against him, wrapping a hand around himself as he pictured it. “Jesus, that’s so … thank you for staying by me while I got my act together.”

Derek rubbed a finger over the head of Stiles’ dick, causing him to drop his head forward and groan. Derek smirked when Stiles looked back up at him. “I was never going anywhere. I was going to get you no matter what.”

The possessiveness of the statement went right to Stiles’ dick, and it spurted a drop of precum onto their fingers. Derek brought his up to his mouth and ran them along his bottom lip.

“That shouldn’t be so fucking hot,“ Stiles complained, staring at the shine on Derek’s mouth. He normally hated come-play. But apparently, as he was fast finding out, it depended on who he was with.

He had to crawl off Derek to reach the lube, squirting a generous amount onto his hand. He couldn’t help but moan as he pushed into himself, three fingers sinking in easily. He opened his fingers and rotated his wrist, liking the sudden stretch. Pushing his fingers in further, he then started a slow glide in and out. He closed his hand back around Derek’s dick and started stroking him to the same rhythm.

Derek watched him with hooded eyes, giving tiny thrusts into Stiles’ hand, and grunting softly with each upwards stroke. His mouth fell open, his lips shiny with spit and Stiles’ precum. He ran his tongue across them and moaned Stiles’ name.

Stiles’ hips rocked as he kneeled on the blanket. He felt like Derek was fucking him remotely, each thrust of Derek’s dick in his hand coinciding with his fingers in his ass. He swayed forward, closing his eyes.

“Fuck, Derek.”

He pulled his fingers out of himself, knowing they could both get off just like this, that they’d been moving towards it, but not wanting everything to end before he got Derek inside him. He almost mouthed Derek’s dick as it bobbed in front of him, slicking Derek’s stomach with precum. He’d never had one in his mouth before, but the increasing want he had to do so was almost overwhelming. He could taste it on his tongue already, imagined the weight of it, the heat, and the ache in his jaw.

He caught himself on both hands. He looked up to Derek clenching his fingers into his thighs and staring at him. Derek’s dick was flat against his stomach, inches from Stiles’ mouth, the foreskin folded back, the head wet and glistening. Stiles licked his lips, his eyes drawn to the vein throbbing along the underside.

Derek’s shaking fingers traced down his jaw and got him to look up again. He shifted upwards, drawn by Derek’s hand and his burning eyes until they met in a slide of lips and tongue. Stiles was gasping when he opened the condom packet, and because he couldn’t sit and not touch when all of Derek was on display, he helped roll the condom down and slicked him up with even more lube. 

Each touch had Derek twitching and hitching his breath. Stiles was once more contemplating getting his mouth on Derek to make him come apart just like that, when his hand was pushed away.

“God, Stiles, stop before I can’t!”

Stiles grinned but complied. Later on he’d make sure it was all about Derek, but right now was about the two of them. 

Derek groaned, loud and desperate, and grabbed Stiles, pulling him to kneel before him. He kissed him aggressively, nips of teeth along his lips and sharp demanding stabs of his tongue. Stiles burned with the desire he felt coming off Derek, and gave back just as much as he was given. They were both panting harshly when Stiles stopped the kiss. 

He ran his fingers over the swelling of Derek’s bitten lips that would go down all too soon. “How are your legs holding up?” he asked, placing his hands on Derek’s shoulders.

Derek was sitting on his legs and had been for a while. “Fine?” He looked at Stiles, confused.

“Good.” Stiles sat back down on Derek’s lap. 

Derek moaned as Stiles’ dick rubbed against his own. Stiles rocked, the feel of Derek bumping against him making him shudder. “Just like this then,” he explained.

Derek leaned back slightly to give Stiles room to maneuver, and they locked gazes as Stiles positioned Derek’s dick and eased himself down. He moved slowly, edging further into Derek’s lap as he sank down, letting gravity do it’s job and help settle Derek inside him.

It was so different to anything else Stiles had ever felt; a hard smooth glide of heat that filled him in a way he’d never managed to achieve on his own. There was the burn he pushed through until it disappeared and was replaced by a growing ache. He was shaking with the overload of sensation by the time he stopped to wait for his body to relax enough before going any further.

His head had fallen forward and he’d shut his eyes. A heavy hand in his hair tipped his head back up. “You okay?” Derek asked him, his voice strained.

“Yeah,” Stiles reassured.

Something shifted, and he was suddenly sitting fully on Derek, feeling balls resting under his ass. Derek sounded like he was dying, and Stiles gasped at the sensation of being filled up all the way. “Fucking God!” he cried out, one hand flailing until it smacked into Derek’s shoulder and he grabbed the muscle, digging his fingers in.

“Christ, Stiles!” Derek pulled him forward that little bit more, chests colliding, and Stiles choked on his tongue and mumbled nonsense as Derek started to move them, his hands on Stiles’ hips.

Stiles was at first too overwhelmed to do much but let him, reeling at the push and pull going on inside him. After a while he got more coherent and started rocking into Derek’s thrusts. Stiles was pushing down while Derek lifted his thighs and ass, Stiles amazed by his muscle strength.

Derek opened his legs a little more, and Stiles looked at him with wide eyes. He could feel his hole tingling where the skin pulled, Derek’s dick catching over the edge as he pumped up into him. 

“Good?” Derek asked, his hands running over Stiles' legs and up his sides. Stiles managed to nod and then groaned as Derek grinned, thrusting up harder. 

He tipped backwards, Derek keeping a hold of his lower back while Stiles braced himself on the blanket behind him with his hands. This position had Derek’s dick rubbing up inside him at a new angle and Stiles making noises he’d never made before.

Derek was snarling low under his breath, and Stiles found himself hooked, wanting him to be louder, wanting to feel the rumble of it through Derek’s dick, traveling into him. Just the thought had him clenching down. Derek lost his rhythm slightly and caught Stiles’ eyes. He clenched down again and Derek growled. Stiles smirked, and Derek’s eyes flashed. Stiles’ own glamour dropped in response. 

He knew his eyes were glowing their slate gray, he could feel his sharp teeth against his tongue. Everything was heightened, all of his senses fixed on Derek and their joining, and when Derek’s fangs grew in his mouth and his claws pricked Stiles’ skin, he lost it completely. His magic whipped up around him and he pulled on Derek’s emotions without meaning to. He could feel the overwhelming connection Derek felt towards him, wanting to mark Stiles all over, claim him. And Derek’s love, always his love for Stiles, warm and all-encompassing. 

Stiles swallowed it down, pulling it into him with a fierce strength, too wrapped up in Derek to have any restraint.

He wanted Derek to feel how much he loved him back. He wished he could share this with him, show him he cherished Derek more than his own life. He pushed at his magic, wanting and hoping.

“God, Stiles, what is that?” Derek called out. 

Stiles heard him distantly, through the rush of orgasm and his own cries.

He fell back on the blanket. From the waist down he was in Derek’s lap and he wrapped his legs up behind Derek, urging him on. He’d made a complete mess of himself with his come and Derek leaned over him, licking along the trails and biting his torso.

“God, Derek,” he hummed, running his hands through Derek’s hair while Derek sucked marks onto his stomach making the muscles twitch. “Come on, Der,” he encouraged. “Come on.”

Derek shifted his legs from under Stiles and pulled out, laying him down on the blanket. Derek shushed his complaints with quick kisses to his thighs and got him to lift up, putting a cushion under him. 

With his hips tilted up, Stiles smiled, understanding, and urged Derek back between his legs. Derek slid into him again, and Stiles sighed into it. “So good,” he said, but it was lost to the swipes of Derek’s tongue as he kissed him. 

Derek was still in beta form, and Stiles thrilled to curl his own tongue around Derek’s fangs and run his fingers through the facial hair and over the brow ridges.

Derek breathed out, “Stiles-Love,” and Stiles smiled widely into the kisses.

He wrapped one leg back around Derek, his foot under his ass and clenched tight, helping Derek move into him deeper. Derek tilted his hips even more and Stiles knew then he’d end up being one of the more flexible people in Beacon Hills if it meant Derek got to move him into whatever position he wanted. Hell, he’d take yoga classes for that to happen.

Stiles was still feeling the aftershocks of his own orgasm when Derek suddenly groaned and stilled. There was a strange but awesome pulsing sensation in his ass and he rubbed his hands over Derek’s back. Derek thrust into him a few more times and then Stiles was being smothered by a very lax and heavy body as Derek folded on top of him. Stiles didn’t mind a bit, only moving so he could remove the pillow from under him.

Derek slipped out of him and Stiles was grateful for the condom stopping him from being a stickier mess than he was with just the lube and his own come. Derek rid himself of the condom, tying it off and placing it somewhere out of direct line of sight. Stiles had to grin at that. Post sex clean up; always gross. 

Derek rubbed his nose against Stiles’ as he pulled him closer with an arm around his waist. Stiles snuggled into him because he was a cuddler. No surprises there. He was happy to note it looked like Derek was, too. He closed his eyes, content to lay there. 

He was curling his toes into the blanket, catching the longer fibers between them, when Derek chuckled. “Hmm?” asked Stiles, and opened his eyes.

Derek had lifted his head to watch Stiles’ feet. “Tactile always and forever,” he noted with a smile.

Stiles shrugged lazily, not the least bit embarrassed. He’d grown up with people remarking on his urge to touch things. Speaking of which …

“I don’t always have to use my hands to be tactile.” He smiled, and tipped his head back, closing his eyes again. He had to laugh at Derek’s soft groan and the mouth that was suddenly licking and kissing up his throat.

Stiles curled his fingers into Derek’s hair again, unable to stop touching the soft strands, and sighed. He loved the feel of Derek marking him. It made him think of how Derek wanted to claim him. Stiles was down with that. Possibly. He’d have to look into what it meant. He had a vague notion it was one of the more animalistic tendencies of werewolves, but he wasn’t sure of the details and didn’t know how it related to being pair bonded. He was almost certain it would work in his favor though, as he wanted to mark and own Derek right back.

He scratched at his stomach and grimaced and tugged on Derek’s hair to get him away from his neck. “Okay, getting gross now. I’m drying, and this is never my favourite part of sex.” He put a hand on Derek’s chest, and pushed. “Shower, now.”

“I think you look sexy,” Derek complained, but hauled Stiles to standing in one quick motion. 

Stiles raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Derek shook his head fondly and pressed up against him, rubbing his hands up and down Stiles’ back and ass. Stiles shivered and rested his head on Derek’s shoulder. 

“You are, you know,” Derek told him. “So sexy, Stiles.”

“Skinny and bony,” Stiles retorted, but without much heat. 

“We going to argue about this?” Derek asked through a kiss.

“Nope,” Stiles mumbled into his lips. “No arguing here.”

“Good, now come and shower with me.”

 

***

 

Their shower lasted longer than expected, but Stiles wasn’t complaining. Derek took his time to soap and wash him from head to toe, finally stopping the teasing touches which had Stiles pleading with him to do something more, and fucked him against the shower wall.

He’d pushed into Stiles easily, and while it hurt a little, he ignored it, wrapping both legs around Derek’s waist, while Derek held his ass and thrust into him with long intense strokes. Stiles had never been held up and fucked against something before and he felt owned and at the mercy of Derek’s thrusts. The angle had him keening low and constant as Derek’s dick battered his prostate with unerring accuracy. 

Derek asked Stiles to take his emotions, and he had, letting the lust and love wash over him until he wanted to explode with it. He’d sent his magic into Derek, hoping to share his love in return. He still wasn’t sure if it worked, but Derek had sighed, moaned, and held Stiles close, tenderly, and jacked him off with sure twists of his wrist as he pushed up inside him. A hard lingering bite to his shoulder and Derek shuddering against him let Stiles know he’d come, and he followed not long after.

When he came back to himself, he was being held up with one hand, while Derek used the other to hold the condom edge as he slipped out of him. Stiles leant against the shower wall when Derek let him down, his legs shaking, content to just float along on his endorphin high, getting an eyeful of Derek and feeling immensely happy he could do so and was welcomed to look.

Derek proceeded to wash them both down again. He even toweled Stiles dry, mock-growling when Stiles tried to do it himself. He dried him down like he was something precious, petting and kissing each piece of skin as he rubbed the towel across it. By the end of it, if Stiles had magical stamina, he would have been begging for another go round. As it was his dick made a gallant effort, twitching slightly, but that was as much as it was capable of. Derek had patted it dry, kissing along its length placidly, like he wasn’t trying to kill Stiles with over-stimulation.

Stiles eventually had to squirm his way out of Derek’s hold when it seemed like Derek was content to just keep laving his tongue over him until they were ready to go again. Not that he would have minded; a blow job from Derek being one of his most-used jerk off fantasies, but there were things that needed doing that didn't include diving into that wet heat, as much as he wanted to. His resolve almost crumbled, but he’d managed to stay out of Derek’s clutches long enough to get dressed. 

He was sitting at the kitchen bench twirling on the seat slowly, ignoring the uncomfortable twinge in his ass, while Derek made them a meal. The sunlight was beginning to warm the kitchen where he was sitting, so Stiles closed his eyes and let the sun fill him up while he twirled around.

It was very early morning and the birds were singing their dawn chorus, making him smile. He’d loved listening to them when resting up in the tree tops of the preserve. They’d flit around him, bright flashes of color alighting on him for the barest of seconds before they’d suddenly take off en masse, winging away in a whoosh of fluttering feathers.

He sighed, and squashed down the Nemeton’s connection that was buzzing at the edges of his mind. It had been three days since he’d left the preserve and he was feeling the pull of nature’s call.

Really, Stiles was feeling pretty good physically. Awesome sex with the wolf he loved had that effect. Apart from a slight soreness inside, his body was lax and content. It was a different scene in his mind. In his mind, Stiles was silently berating himself. He could be such a selfish dick when he wanted to be. Literally. He’d been getting himself some hot werewolf ass while his dad was going through who-knows-what. 

Derek looked over at him and tilted his head. “Stiles?”

Stiles turned the other way in the chair. “Yeah?”

“When Scott brings Lydia and Malia back from the airport we'll go see them.”

“They should be getting back soon, right?”

“Soon,” agreed Derek.

Stiles kept spinning slowly. “And you know that even if none of you want to use my plan, I’ll still do it if no one can come up with anything better?” 

It needed saying. 

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose, and put a plate of toast in front of Stiles. “No, you won’t.”

“Will,” he disagreed. He stopped spinning, picked up the buttered toast and took a huge bite. 

Since he used nature as an energy source, which was still weird to him when he thought about it, Stiles didn’t have to consume human food. He’d proven it while he was in the preserve. But he still liked it and craved certain things. Like fruit smoothies. He could go for one of those right now. But toast would do too.

He took another bite, then frowned. He didn’t think he’d told Derek or anybody about his ‘nature as a food source’ thing. Was that something he should do?

Derek stood in front of him. “— what I’m saying?”

“Uh?” Stiles had stopped listening obviously. He scratched at his chin. “I’m going to go with, no?”

Derek gave him a slightly dirty look. “We’re going to figure out something that doesn’t require you offering yourself up as bait. And if that means I have to physically stop you, then I will.”

Stiles stared at him. “Okay, I’m listening.”

And he was. He didn’t think Derek would go so far to stop him from finding his dad, but just the idea of being restrained made his heart dip down into his stomach. 

Something must have showed on his face, or Derek heard his heartbeat change, or smelt his worry, because he sat on the chair next to him and put his hands on Stiles’ knees. “I don’t want to have to do that but I will protect you, even from yourself. So just don’t do anything stupid and we’ll be fine.”

“You do realize most of the stuff we do could be considered stupid, right?” Stiles reasoned.

Derek breathed in slowly. “Just don’t do it without me,” he amended.

Stiles laughed ruefully. “I wasn’t planning on it, trust me. I don’t want to go anywhere near that asshole without some serious wolf-powered muscle right beside me, or better yet, in front of me.”

Derek gave him a long look which Stiles sat through with an upturned lift to his jaw. 

Finally, Derek nodded. “Stiles, you know we’re going to get Brine, and that he can’t hurt you.” 

Stiles smiled crookedly. “Yep.”

Derek’s phone rang and he walked out of the kitchen area to retrieve it from the couch. 

Stiles looked in the other direction, out the kitchen window at the brightening day, and did a silent once-over check.

His heart was beating only slightly faster than normal, which could be chalked up to worry about his dad. He was pretty sure his scent wasn't exposing anything too different, either.

He allowed himself a small sigh. 

He was thankful for all the practice he’d had at fooling the pack with how he was feeling. It was all about making them believe he was worrying about something other than what he was actually worrying about.

Derek didn’t need to be picking up on how he felt about Brine. 

No one needed to know anything about that. 

 

***


	19. The Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why doesn't anyone listen to Stiles?

Stiles refused to deal with Derek’s car anymore. He couldn’t handle the confinement such a small space put on him. When Scott had called to say he was back with Lydia and Malia, Stiles wanted to sunlight-leap home to get his jeep. Derek hadn’t been happy about that, not wanting him to go anywhere on his own, so they’d compromised. 

Derek drove him to his house and they’d picked up his jeep, leaving Derek’s car sitting in the driveway. As he drove to Scott’s, Stiles’ relief at being behind the wheel of his jeep lessoned and was replaced by anxiety as he considered Lydia and Malia.

The last time he’d seen them, they’d been in the preserve trying to find him and he’d gotten them lost using his fae tricks. No one got hurt, but Lydia had been stuck down in a small valley and Malia had run into a black bear. Stiles shuddered to think what would have happened if it had been Lydia with the bear.

Derek was quiet the whole ride over, which left Stiles to stew in his own thoughts while he drove. By the time he parked his jeep in Scott’s driveway he was tapping the steering wheel constantly with both hands, his anxiety spilling over. Derek said nothing, only getting out of the jeep, which had Stiles frowning, but he refrained from saying anything. He’d possibly gotten too used to having Derek make him feel better whenever he needed it. 

He climbed out of his jeep and was caught by two strong arms and held close. He breathed in Malia’s shampoo and gave her a hug in return, feeling some of his worry dissipate. Then Malia hit him on the shoulder, hard.

“Ow!” he complained.

“That’s from me for Lydia,” Malia told him. “You could have called her when you got back you know.”

Stiles was suitably chastised. “Fair enough. But what about calling you?”

Malia scoffed, “You and I are on a similar wave-length, I would have forgotten to call, too.”

Stiles laughed. “I’m happy to see you,” he told her.

“Me too, but Stiles? If you hurt Lydia like that again I’ll hurt you back, even though I love you.”

Stiles believed Malia was telling the absolute truth.

“I promise I won’t,” he swore, when she continued to scowl at him. 

The promise made her relax and she smiled, grabbing his arm. “Come on,” she said, and pulled him up the driveway into Scott’s house.

Scott and Derek were talking earnestly with Lydia. The concerned look on Scott’s face smoothed over when he noticed Stiles, and they all stopped talking. Stiles wanted to know what that was about but was sidetracked by Lydia turning around to face him.

“Lyds,” Stiles said, softly. “I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t go even halfway towards making up for everything, but I really am.”

Lydia walked up to him, and Stiles couldn’t help but feel a little threatened as she looked him over. He bit his bottom lip. “Lydia?” he asked, worriedly.

“Stiles.” She rested her head against his chest.

He put his arms around her. “Hey, are you okay?”

Lydia sniffed and looked up at him, giving him an unimpressed look. “Apart from not seeing you for months and your dad and Jordan being kidnapped?” she scoffed. “Sure. I’m great.”

Stiles had forgotten about Lydia dating Parrish. He shook his head at himself for being so uncaring. He squeezed her tighter. “Well, now you’re here, we’ll go get them back.”

 

***

 

Stiles wasn’t too happy.

Everyone but Malia had vetoed his idea of being bait to draw out Brine. He’d thought Lydia would back him up, but apparently he’d disappeared once too often for her to be okay with it. Instead, against Stiles’ complaints, they were getting help from Beacon Hill’s resident druid asshole. 

Stiles was sitting in his jeep outside the animal clinic, having vehemently declined going in, listening to his police radio and muttering dark thoughts to himself. Derek had taken his jeep keys. No one trusted him not to go off on his own after Brine. He’d wisely not reminded them he could just sunlight-leap anywhere. He didn’t want them to tie him up like Derek had alluded to before.

Stiles cursed some more as he twiddled with the scanner. The police had nothing new, so he slumped back in his seat and stared out the window at the clinic. 

He objectively understood everyone was looking out for him as they didn’t want him risking his life. But when he thought about his dad being with Brine, objectivity went out the window. Being bait would be the easiest and quickest way to get his dad back. And Parrish, too, of course.

He deserved some credit here. He’d come up with a viable plan and had yet to break down today. He’d taken Derek’s advice and tamped down all of his darker scarier thoughts, deep enough that all that was left was a cold hard shard sitting in his heart. It made his chest hurt but he refrained from rubbing it.

Suddenly, the police scanner piped up, and Stiles stopped grumbling to listen. When he hopped out of his jeep half a minute later, he was feeling more optimistic. Enough to go inside and face down Deaton again.

 

***

 

“What do you mean this changes nothing?!” Stiles rounded on Deaton, fuming.

“If you’ll let me explain?” Deaton asked. 

With the new information Stiles had learnt, namely a sighting of Brine, he’d presumed they'd be going to check it out. But no. 

“Some druids have the ability to create illusions. Sarah was one of them. It’s possible that Gavin is doing the same thing,” Deaton explained.

“We’ll let the police handle it, Stiles,” Scott said, reasonably. 

Stiles turned his glare on him. “While we do what? Sit on our asses and do nothing?!”

Scott opened his mouth to retort, but Derek got there first. He grabbed Stiles’ hand and pulled him out of the examination room. Stiles ripped his hand out of Derek’s grasp as soon as they were in the corridor. 

“What, Derek?!” Stiles was so angry. Angry at Deaton, angry at Scott, angry at everyone.

Derek ignored the fury directed at him, moving into Stiles’ personal space and wrapping him up in a tight hug.

Stiles stopped. This was the first overtly emotional display from Derek since this morning, and he wanted it so badly. He leant into it, his hands coming up to grasp at Derek’s shirt.

“Stiles, we’re doing everything we can,” Derek started.

“It’s not enough,” Stiles complained, pressing his face into Derek’s neck, needing to be closer.

“I know. But we’ll work something out. For now, I want you to do something for yourself.”

Stiles frowned and looked at him closely. “What?”

Derek ran a hand down his shoulder and then held him around the waist, their hips slotting together nicely like they were meant to fit together.

“I want you to take my feelings.”

“Why?” Stiles didn’t think right now was the most opportune moment.

“Because even though you try to fool me, I know you too well. You’re entirely too stressed out right now, and I can help.”

Stiles shifted uncomfortably. “Of course I have stress, who wouldn’t.”

Derek shook his head. “I can help with your pain if you let me.” He tapped Stiles’ chest gently. “I saw you rubbing at it, just like at the hospital.”

“When?” He'd been so careful.

“In the jeep, during the drive over. Come on, Stiles, do this. It will help.”

Stiles was very close to obstinately denying he needed help, but the lie wouldn’t roll off his tongue. “Fine.”

Derek smiled gently. “Anytime you want.”

Stiles shook his head slightly. Stubborn wolf. He squared his shoulders and stared Derek down, noticing how very green his eyes were under the clinic’s corridor light. If Stiles looked closer, he could see tiny reflections of himself staring back, looking frazzled. His nose bumped Derek’s and he closed his eyes automatically, as Derek kissed him. 

It was a languid kiss, Derek moving his lips over him gently, his tongue soothing where it touched. Stiles sighed into it and let his magic reach out.

He sunk into a wave of love, letting it wash over him, then swayed in Derek’s arms as he went deeper, feeling the warmth that came with it. There was determination-protection-caring and threading through all of it was Derek’s calm strength. 

The pain in his chest opened up and Stiles choked a little, breathing harsher, tears coming to his eyes, but Derek kept the kiss gentle, coaxing him back into it. The hard shard didn’t go away, but the pain leveled out. Stiles opened his eyes, and saw black lines traveling up Derek’s cheekbones as he took Stiles’ pain. Derek opened his eyes, too, and they stared at each other through their kiss, inches apart. 

The kiss ended when Stiles stepped back, knowing if he didn’t stop he’d want everything.

“How do you feel?” Derek asked.

Stiles contemplated the answer. “Better,” he admitted. The pain in his chest had lessoned and he was more clear-headed. Even being in the clinic didn’t intrude on the bubble of calm he had going on. “Wow, Derek. Seriously, that’s some incredible power you’ve got there.”

Derek’s mouth twitched. “I don’t think it’s so much me, as us.”

Stiles smiled. “Us. We’re good together.”

Derek’s smile grew into his soft sweet one that Stiles wanted to keep whenever he saw it. “We are. Very good together.”

“Just so you know, I totally mean to break up your love-fest,” Malia interrupted them, standing at the end of the corridor. “Get back in here, we can’t agree on anything without you.” She motioned with her head back into the examination room, then turned and disappeared. 

Stiles snorted. “Her bluntness is always refreshing.” He held Derek’s hand as they walked back into the room. He caught the end of Scott’s suggested plan of action and couldn’t help his snort of derision. “That’s your plan? Your plan sucks.” 

Scott’s face fell. “I know,” he agreed.

Scott had been talking about getting his dad involved. The FBI had already been notified of the sheriff’s kidnapping, but Scott was suggesting a more direct line of involvement where he’d talk to his dad about Brine coming after Stiles again. Having the FBI looking for Brine was a good thing, but Stiles didn’t want to deal with Scott’s dad more than necessary. He also knew how much it would cost Scott to call him. 

“Look, Scotty, I appreciate you suggesting it, but there’s just no way I want your dad involved in this any more than he already is. And be honest, you don’t really want him to be either. So let’s just go with me being bait and work around that, okay?” He let go of Derek’s hand to go stand near him.

Scott was unconvinced. “I don’t know.”

Stiles kept going, knowing just how to push. He hated himself for it, but dug deeper at Scott’s mistrust of his dad. He clapped his hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Your dad would probably use me as bait straight off though. So you’re right. Let’s do it. Call him, Scott.”

Scott’s face went through a slew of emotions as Stiles watched, feeling every bit the manipulative bastard he could be. Eventually, Scott landed on resigned. “Okay, we’re not calling my dad.”

Stiles hid his grim satisfaction by dropping his hand and turning away.

Both Derek and Deaton made it clear with their knowing stares that they were aware of his maneuvering of the situation. He ignored them.

“Using Stiles as bait is probably the best way to go,” Deaton agreed, slowly. 

Derek folded his arms and scowled at him. 

Stiles scowled at him as well, but for a different reason. He didn’t want Deaton’s help. He was only here because everyone else had outvoted him. The calmness he’d experienced with Derek was rapidly dissipating.

“About time!” Malia said, in response to Deaton. “Stiles is the answer here.” 

Stiles pointed meaningfully at Malia and looked at everyone else. Lydia rolled her eyes at him. 

“Now we have that worked out, how do we use him to find the sheriff? And Parrish,” Malia added, as she glanced at Lydia.

Stiles caught her concern. Lydia must have told Malia about being with Parrish. He was happy that Lydia had started opening up to someone, but he was also sad. He’d not been there to support her and Lydia had gone looking for another friend to confide in.

Stiles came back to himself as Deaton started talking again. He made a conscious effort to pay attention, clenching his fingernails into his palms to help. Now was not the time to find other things to be preoccupied with. His dad came first.

“If Brine is creating an illusion of himself, he must be using certain things to do so. I would be able to help by doing a search spell, but unfortunately the object I need was stollen from this clinic two days ago.” Deaton pointedly looked over in Stiles’ direction. 

Stiles rolled his eyes, and spoke over Scott’s outburst over learning the animal clinic had been robbed. “What ‘certain things’ is Brine using?” He had no guilt at taking back the Nemeton wood and didn’t feel the need to pretend otherwise if Deaton had suspicions about him.

Deaton kept staring at him. 

Stiles was not going to be the one who looked away first.

Scott was still trying to get Deaton to explain about the robbery when Lydia, who’d been watching Stiles intently, placed her hand on Scott’s arm and shushed him. 

Scott took a moment to read the room and frowned at the showdown that was suddenly occurring in front of him. “What’s going on?”

Stiles’ brain was whirling along as he stared at Deaton. He’d figured out some things. The sphere was made to find and summon other pieces of the Nemeton. Something which hadn’t sat right with him since he’d worked it out. Why would Deaton make it so, unless he wanted all of the wood for himself at some point? And if Deaton needed the sphere to find Brine, didn’t that mean Brine was using Nemeton wood?

The idea of Brine having access to any part of the Nemeton filled Stiles with a dark energy. He made sure not to show any outward sign of being highly disturbed by what he was presuming. Before he acted he needed to know if he was correct.

He answered Scott’s question. “Deaton needs to come clean on a few things.”

“Deaton?” Scott turned to him.

Deaton sighed, breaking the staring contest to glance at Scott. “It seems I have to speak of something I have no wish to, for it is my biggest shame.” 

When no one stopped him, everyone waiting for him to continue, he gave Stiles another look which Stiles returned with a raised eyebrow, daring him to keep lying.

“Years ago,” Deaton started, “I took part in something. If I knew then what I do now, I would not have done it.” He looked regretfully at Stiles, as if asking for forgiveness.

Stiles refrained from sneering at him, saying flatly, “I don’t believe you. Keep going.”

“Stiles?” Scott asked.

“Shut up, Scott,” Malia said. Like Lydia, she’d been watching everything quietly.

Deaton continued, “When the Nemeton was cut down, everyone involved in the undertaking was given some of the wood. We created objects of power. Sara, Brine’s wife, had some. This is what Brine will be using to create his illusions as he has no magic in himself.”

“You mean you chopped down the Nemeton? You?” Malia asked. She looked over at Stiles. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” agreed Lydia. She gave Stiles a disappointed look for not telling her. 

Stiles gave her a one-shoulder shrug. It wasn’t that important right now.

“I’m still not getting it,” Scott said. “Yes, Deaton chopped down the tree, but what’s that got to do with the robbery?”

“Nothing was stollen except pieces of the Nemeton,” Deaton explained.

“So, Brine robbed you?” Scott frowned.

“I don’t think it was Brine, Scott,” Lydia said. She turned to Stiles. “Was it?”

Stiles shrugged again. “They aren’t his to keep,” he explained. Let them make of that what they will. He looked over at Derek, who nodded his head supportingly at him.

Scott gapped at Stiles. “You robbed Deaton?”

“Robbed. Took back what didn’t belong to him. Semantics, really,” Stiles answered.

“Stiles!” Scott wasn’t impressed.

Neither was Stiles. “That’s not the issue here.” He turned his attention back to Deaton. “Care to tell me why you need a dead piece of wood?”

“I’m assuming after you took it, you woke it up,” Deaton told him. “I wasn’t sure, but when my magic alarms were tripped in such a fashion and only the Nemeton wood was missing, I guessed it was you who took the pieces.”

“You didn’t tell the police,” Derek said, bringing up a valid question. “Why?”

“I did say I wasn’t happy with my previous actions regarding the Nemeton,” Deaton told him. “When Stiles took the pieces I thought maybe I could start to make amends.”

Stiles wasn’t buying Deaton’s sob story for a second. “You still haven’t explained what you need the wood for.”

“And you haven’t yet said if you managed to wake it up. There’s only one being who could do that, Stiles.”

Stiles stilled.

If Deaton was alluding to his connection to the Nemeton, it may force his hand. In his heart of hearts, he didn’t want to be the kind of person who hurt people, who took their anonymity away from them. But his secret must remain just that.

Before he could warn Deaton, the druid kept talking.

“There was always one fae, out of all the others, who was connected to the Nemeton more than anyone else. They were its protector, its moral guide, its spiritual centre in a way —”

“Deaton, stop.” Stiles interrupted.

“I believe when Stiles was chosen to become fae, that he also became the Nemeton’s latest protector. If you’ve managed to connect with it like that, Stiles, there’s no telling what you’re capable of.” 

“You idiot,” Stiles glared, and dropped his glamour. He advanced on Deaton, grabbing him before anyone could stop him. He brushed aside the magic in the room which tried to come to Deaton’s defense. “Do you think that’s information you have the right to speak of?” he whispered coldly in Deaton’s face.

Scott moved forward, clearly intending to intervene. Stiles warned him back with a hiss through his pointy teeth, at the same time Deaton held up a hand to stop Scott advancing. 

Scott stood back, but he was in alpha form and clearly upset. “Stiles, let him go,” he growled.

“Not yet,” Stiles told him, and looked back at Deaton. “Now I have to do something I’d rather I didn’t.”

“Stiles, no!” Scott protested.

“Relax, Scotty,” Stiles scoffed. “You really think Derek would be standing there if he thought I was going to kill Deaton?”

Derek raised his eyebrows at Scott. It was true. He was leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. A picture of indifference.

Scott still wasn’t sure. “Derek would do anything for you, Stiles. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“I wouldn’t let him hurt Deaton, you idiot,” Derek shook his head at Scott. “Use your brain.”

Scott rounded on him. “You know, just because you want to sleep with him doesn’t mean I’m not the alpha here!”

Derek narrowed his eyes. “I never said it did,” he said. “Calm down, Scott. I’m not challenging you. Just like Stiles isn’t threatening Deaton’s life.” He paused. “Yet.”

Stiles snorted. “Way to help, big guy.” He shook his head. 

Derek sent him a quick crooked grin. “You’re welcome.”

Scott spent a few more seconds posturing, then his alpha form disappeared. “What are you going to do that you don’t want to?” he asked Stiles.

“I’m going to force Deaton to make a binding pact with me,” Stiles sighed.

Deaton’s eyes widened. “Stiles,” he protested.

“You did this to yourself,” Stiles hissed, to shut him up. “Now, come on. Let’s get this over with.” 

He forced Deaton to stand before him, holding him with one hand on his shoulder. Before he began, he closed his eyes and grimaced. Then, opening them, he locked gazes with Deaton. 

Swallowing, he said, “Repeat what I say: ‘I swear I will never, not even under duress, communicate in any way my knowledge of Stiles in regards to being fae and all that entails, to anyone not in this room right now.”

Deaton repeated the words, looking right at Stiles while he did so.

Stiles added, “This pact will hold until and even after death.” 

Deaton was shaking a little, Stiles could feel it through the hold on his shoulder. He hated that he’d have this power over him, but he forced Deaton to continue by staring him down.

Deaton repeated the last words. 

The binding started to form. Stiles held out his pinkie and Deaton hooked his own around it. The binding magic caused both of them to suck in a breath as it rushed around them. Stiles could feel a tiny awareness of Deaton settle inside himself, right next to the binding awareness of Derek. 

These magical tags would alert him if his pacts were broken and was the second main reason he didn’t want to create a binding pact with someone, especially someone he despised. He didn’t want any connection to Deaton, no matter that he could essentially ignore it unless it was activated.

Stiles let Deaton go as soon as he could and stood near Derek, who put a hand on his back in comfort. Stiles could tell Derek was a lot more concerned for him than he was letting on, the pressure of his hand was solid, strong, and supportive. Stiles leant back into it.

Deaton sat down in his chair. He was clearly unhappy, but looked at Stiles with a new understanding Stiles didn’t like one bit.

“Stiles, what was that?” Malia asked.

Stiles shook out his hands, feeling pins and needles in them. He slid his glamour back on, and everything dulled down to human perspective. “Fae can bind people to promises.” He really didn’t want to have to explain it. 

“And that means?” Lydia pushed.

“Deaton won’t tell anyone anything about me, other than you guys,” he answered, vaguely.

“Including that bit about you being the Nemeton’s protector?” Lydia asked.

Stiles tried not to flinch. “Please don’t,” he said. “Just, don’t ever mention that, okay? It’s important, and I won’t go into details. No one can know of it.”

“Because they’ll kill you,” Malia guessed.

“Something like that,” he agreed.

“Don’t you want a binding promise from us, too?” Scott asked, still looking disturbed by Stiles’ actions.

“God, no!” Stiles bit out, shaking his head. “I trust you to keep quiet.”

“But you didn’t trust Deaton.”

“Scott, really?” Lydia gave him a scornful look. “What will it take for you to understand that?”

“I guess I do now,” Scott said, sadly.

“What was with the pinkie swearing?” Malia asked. “Part of the whole 'putting him under your power' thing?”

Stiles did flinch then. “That’s just a thing I do, but I didn’t, I’m not …” He rubbed his hands over his thighs. He felt dirty.

Derek scowled at Malia. “Stiles doesn’t have Deaton under his power. It doesn’t work like that.”

“How does it work?” Scott asked.

It was Deaton who answered. “Stiles gets to reprimand me if I break my promise.”

“How?” Malia queried, honestly confused. “You what? Get to smack him around if he tells someone?”

Stiles rubbed his hands again, becoming increasingly uncomfortable as the conversation progressed.

“If he chose to, he would be able to do it, and I couldn’t stop him,” Deaton agreed.

“Stiles!” Scott scolded him. 

Honestly, Stiles was getting a little annoyed at Scott’s constant disapproval for things he hadn’t done. “I’m not going to do that, Scott!”

“What would you do?”

Stiles didn’t have an answer for that. Not one he wanted to voice.

Deaton looked at him, but Stiles wouldn’t catch his eye, feeling wrong about what he’d done even if Deaton wasn’t his friend. 

Deaton spoke slowly, “From all of the history I’ve learnt and from what I witnessed when I was younger, fae use the binding to force compliance, exacting revenge and taking great joy in the process if the pact is broken. In fact, fae like to twist their bindings so it’s almost impossible to not break them. Tricking people into a pact is a prideful thing for a fae.”

Stiles folded his arms across his body.

He really hated that Deaton knew so much about him. He should have got him to state he couldn’t talk to anyone about fae business. He’d left the pact too open by including his friends. 

Deaton continued, “But Stiles didn’t do that. Our pact is straightforward and it doesn’t look like he enjoyed it at all. He’s not your typical fae. Also, I’m not worried about what he’ll do to me, Scott. Because I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“I still don’t understand,” Scott complained.

“Stiles can essentially do something to me that no one else is capable of. He can strip me of my magic if I break pact with him. But as I said, I don’t believe he’d do it.”

“Don’t be so sure of that,” Stiles cautioned him. He needed Deaton to know he was serious about this, even if he hated how he got the right to do it.

Deaton observed him for a minute, and then nodded in acknowledgement. 

Stiles had the urge to apologize to him, and bit his tongue.

Deaton turned to Scott again. “This is more about trust, than anything else, Scott. Myself, gaining Stiles’. And to that end I have a gift of sorts.” Deaton stood up and retrieved a cardboard box from the next room. He placed it on the examination table and motioned to Stiles. “I believe these are yours.”

Stiles placed a hand over the lid of the box. He could feel Nemeton wood calling to him from inside. There were numerous pieces he would have sworn were not at the clinic when he broke in.

He closed his eyes. “Thank you,” he said to Deaton, grudgingly.

“They were never mine, truthfully. We agree on that,” Deaton told him.

Scott looked like he wanted to ask a billion questions, but Lydia glared so hard at him he shut his mouth and stood silent, pouting.

“What will you do with the sphere?” Stiles asked, forcing himself to concede it looked like Deaton had planned to give him the wood before he’d shown up at the clinic.

“Not me, Stiles. I will show you how to use it to find the piece that Brine is using. We can use a map and pin-point his location.”

Stiles nodded slowly. “Do you need both of them?” 

Deaton smiled a little. “You have the sister.”

“It was in the vault,” Derek told him.

Deaton made a noise of understanding. “It makes sense Talia would store it there.” He looked back at Stiles. “It would make for a stronger spell.”

Stiles nodded again. “I’ll go get them.” 

When he opened the front door to the clinic, he stood in the carpark, letting the sun warm and energize him. He immediately felt better not being surrounded by the druid magic that was soaked into the clinic walls. He wasn’t at any risk from it; he could collapse all of Deaton’s carefully formed wards with little more than a slight electric display and a pull on the Nemeton’s magic. No, Deaton posed no magical threat. But to stand in the room with him was draining.

“Shall we go?” Derek motioned to the jeep, having followed Stiles out.

Stiles couldn’t help his slightly manic smile as he looked at Derek. He was fae. He should use that to his advantage. 

“Did you lock your front door?” he asked.

“Yeah?”

“Could I have the key, please?” 

Derek looked confused, but handed his keys over. 

Stiles clasped Derek’s fingers. “I’ll be right back.” He dropped his hand, and winked.

Then he sunlight-leapt away to Derek’s front yard.

 

***

 

Stiles had gotten the spheres from Derek’s. Just as he’d thought, leaving them alone for a while had allowed the dead one to recharge its power. They were thrumming in his hands as he held them up to Deaton’s inspection. 

“Amazing, Stiles,” the druid said, with admiration. 

The praise spooked Stiles. It didn’t help that Scott beamed at him, as if to say what a good guy Deaton was. 

Stiles gave Scott an unimpressed look.

Deaton got Stiles to sit in a circle drawn in chalk on the floor. With instruction, Stiles used the spheres to look for the Nemeton piece they thought Brine was using. It required Stiles to hold both spheres in one hand and run his other hand over the map in front of him. 

As he delved into the spheres’ magic he could feel pin pricks of awareness, hundreds of them. They were dormant for the most part, but some were in use like the Triskelion box. Only a few were still in the Beacon Hills county area. The further away they were, the lighter the awareness Stiles had of them. 

Stiles found one in Beacon Hills which stood out from all the rest. This pin prick was fighting its use, setting off sparks of lightning along the energy fields. Stiles hoped the magical backlash hurt Brine, who wasn’t fae and wasn’t even druid. The idea he was using Nemeton wood was enough to make Stiles almost loose his thread of awareness.

As he strengthened the connection to the little energy signature, his fingers continued to track over the map. After a few seconds, they started to get hot. It didn’t hurt him, but Lydia gasped in shock.

He dropped the connection, and opened his eyes. “What?” he asked, and looked down at the map, pausing when he saw where Brine was.

He picked the map up and smoothed it out on the examination table, after pocketing the spheres. There was a burn mark on the map, right over the industrial area where Stiles was held during his kidnapping. 

Scott’s mouth dropped open, Malia grunted in surprise, and Derek growled. But Stiles remained unmoved.

“It’s probably the same room, isn’t it?” he said, offhand. His fingers hovered above the mark.

“The police checked there!” Scott exclaimed. “It was one of the first places.”

“Brine may have moved in after they did,” Lydia mused, “unless this is a trap.” Everyone turned to her, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation. “What? We don’t know what he knows. Assume the information we have is misleading and then no one gets hurt.”

Stiles reached over and squeezed her arm. She gave him a crooked smile.

“If this is a trap, are we going to spring it?” Malia asked.

“Yes,” Derek said, placing his hands on the table and leaning over. “But not you, Stiles.”

“What?”

Scott nodded. “I’ll go with Malia and Derek.”

“Like hell,” Stiles argued, raising his voice.

“Stiles, for once just shut up and listen!” Derek growled, leaning over the examination table, both hands on either side of the map. 

Stiles closed his mouth, glaring at him.

Derek blew out a breath. “Scott’s right; the three of us will go check it out. We’ll call you right after, I promise. You need to stay here.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the one he’s after. And I’m not okay with you walking into an unknown situation.”

“Didn’t we agree I’m the bait?”

Stiles was going to talk to Derek about his protectiveness. It was cute and everything, but not when it meant he had no say in things.

“Wait,” Scott butted in. “What if that’s the trap? Split us up. What if he’s going to take Stiles when we leave?”

“Then the spell Stiles did would have shown him to be in this vicinity,” Deaton reminded him.

“I don’t really like the way everyone is assuming that can happen again so easily. Do have powers now, people!” Stiles reminded them. “Am able to protect myself! Badass fae over here!”

“What if you have a panic attack when you face him?” Malia asked, bluntly. 

Everyone gave Stiles varying degrees of curious looks. 

He frowned. “I won’t.”

“Do you know that for sure?” Derek asked him, gently.

“Yes?” 

No one believed him. He wasn’t even sure if he believed himself.

The cold hard place in his heart throbbed. He refrained from touching his chest.

“Scott and I will go. Malia and Lydia will stay here with Stiles.” Derek said.

Scott nodded, giving Stiles a sympathetic smile. 

Stiles grudgingly accepted the plan though he had grave misgivings. Something felt wrong, like they’d overlooked an important detail. 

He was silent as he followed Scott and Derek out to the carpark. 

Scott got on his bike. “Don’t worry, bro. I’ve got that blue powder. Maybe I can use it on him."

“Not if it’s like mountain ash,” Stiles reminded him. “Or wolfsbane.”

“Nah, Deaton said supernaturals can use it.”

“What, really? Then why haven’t we seen it before now? Just don’t rely on it. We haven’t tested it.”

“Sure thing,” Scott agreed.

Stiles turned to Derek. “You going to run there?” he asked, somewhat petulantly. He was still annoyed at his ‘stay behind’ orders. 

Derek nodded. 

Stiles sighed, turning his eyes skyward, before he said, “Take the jeep. Better than someone phoning the police about a wolf running the streets.”

Derek stepped closer to him. “Thank you."

“Be careful,” Stiles said, frowning. 

“You too,” Derek told him. 

He went to give Stiles a quick goodbye kiss, but Stiles grabbed him and made sure the kiss lingered. His hands went into Derek’s hair and he pressed up against him, opening his mouth. Derek was breathing heavier when they parted, and Stiles didn’t bother to hide his smugness.

Then he remembered Scott had probably seen the whole thing.

When Stiles cast a quick look in his direction, Scott had a wide grin on his face.

Stiles felt his neck burn, and Derek held his palm over the blush. “Still?” he asked.

“I don’t know why!” Stiles complained. His embarrassment at being seen kissing was so childish and stupid. He’d never been effected by it before. Ever.

Derek smiled at him. Kissed him quickly this time, and walked over to the jeep.

“Why don’t you go with him?” Stiles asked Scott, who was putting on his helmet and still had a big stupid smile on his face.

“Stiles, no offense, but your jeep isn’t as much fun as riding my bike is.”

Stiles’ mouth dropped open in disbelief. “Did you seriously just diss my jeep, man?”

Scott was laughing behind the helmet visor.

“You dick,” Stiles said, without any heat. “My jeep is a classic!”

“Your jeep is held together by tape,” Scott’s muffled voice told him.

Stiles couldn’t argue the point, but that didn’t make his jeep anything less but the best car in the universe. She’d proven she ran on love, and sometimes even magic.

“Yeah, well, just so you know, your bike ruined the idea of playing Quidditch for me!”

Scott shook his head, and revved his bike’s engine.

Stiles continued, “I mean it, Scott! Now I know I can never be a Quidditch player when they finally make flying brooms, because your riding like a maniac freaked me out too much! You’ll get to enjoy being the world’s greatest Seeker and I’ll be stuck on the ground like a muggle!”

Scott pulled out of the carpark, waving at Stiles.

Derek rolled down the window of the jeep. “Love you, Stiles,” he said, seriously. He looked tense but his eyes held a warmth that made butterflies twirl in Stiles' stomach like he was a young boy with his first crush.

He managed to say back, “Love you, too, Der,” as his breath caught in his throat. “Be careful with my baby’s window, k?” he pointed to where Derek had an arm resting.

Derek gave him a confused look, and Stiles shook his head and waved a hand. “You know what, never mind, just don’t roll it back up. It’ll get stuck and then you’ll have to pull it from the top and roll the handle at the same time to get it to move.”

Derek raised his eyebrows. His mouth had a telling quirk to the right side of it.

“Don’t tell Scott,” Stiles pleaded with him.

 

***


	20. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What to do, what to do?

Malia and Lydia had eventually followed Stiles out into the carpark as he hadn’t gone back inside the clinic after Derek left. He was staring at his phone, trying to get it to ring as fast as possible. Enough time had passed for Scott and Derek to arrive downtown.

“Why was that so hard for you?” Lydia asked him.

“What?” Stiles asked, shaking his phone like that would make it ring. 

“Making the pact with Deaton?”

Stiles tensed up. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, flatly.

Lydia stood closer, making him look at her. “Please, Stiles. Help me to understand. You obviously didn’t want to make the pact. Why?”

“I don’t see why you’re asking me,” he tried to stall.

“Uh duh,” Malia answered, “because you’re our friend who was acting even weirder than normal. If I had the power to make people do what I want, I’d have everyone make pacts with me.”

Stiles gave her a slightly horrified look. 

Lydia hummed at his reaction. “Is that it? Having power over people?”

Stiles gave in, obviously the two of them were going to push at this until they got the answers they wanted. “I may not be in control of their actions but I have unlimited access to them and what I can do to them, if they break their promise. No power can save them from me. I can hurt them in any way I choose. Their life is mine if I want to take it.”

“Ah.” Lydia’s eyes were kind as she told him, “You’e not the Nogitsune, Stiles. You would never do what it did.”

Stiles silently cursed Lydia’s ability to see the darker parts of him, even if she didn’t understand. “I don’t know what I’d do under the right, or wrong, circumstances. What if Deaton breaks his pact and it leads to someone I love getting hurt? If that happened, I’m pretty sure I would do horrible things to him. And there’s no safe guard, nothing to stop me.”

“Except you yourself, Stiles. Even Deaton expressed he isn’t worried.”

“He should be.” 

Stiles thought about how he pulled on Derek’s emotions, let them fill him up like he was feeding on them. It may not hurt Derek, but Stiles knew he had the power to do so.

“I’m not worried. I’ll make a pact with you now to prove it.” Lydia held out her pinkie finger. 

Malia smiled, and did the same.

Stiles backed away from them. “Please, don’t! Don’t even joke about it! You wouldn’t say such a thing if you really knew me!”

Lydia scoffed at him, “I’m saying it because I do know you, Stiles! You’re the one who sees yourself in the wrong way. You’re not a bad person, you’re not evil, you’re not someone who likes to hurt others.”

“But I can, and I have, and I will again.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Stiles turned away from them.

“Stiles?”

“There was another reason why Derek didn’t want me to go with them,” he admitted.

“Apart from the whole loving you too much to endanger you?” Malia asked.

Stiles snorted wryly, “Yeah. Apart from that.” He ignored the embarrassment he could feel wriggling inside him from Malia just speaking of Derek’s feelings for him. 

“Well?” Malia prompted.

“He doesn’t want me near Brine because of what I want to do to him.”

“You want to kill him,” Malia said, mater of fact. “I’ll help, if you need me to.” 

Stiles looked at her, completely stumped. 

“That's it, right? Or did I read you wrong?” Malia tilted her head as she looked at him. “Do you feel bad about it? Don't. He kidnapped you, almost killed you. Wanting him dead is completely normal.”

“Want him dead, or want to kill him?” Lydia asked him. “There’s a difference.”

“Both?” Stiles shook his head.

“Are you sure? Do you want him dead and are scared you may be capable of it? Or that you wouldn’t be?”

“Holy crap! Just stop!” Stiles was trying not to shake at hearing his confusion so neatly wrapped up and put on display.

“Which one of us is right?” Malia asked.

“I don’t know!” Stiles cried out. “I don’t know, alright? All I know is that I hate him! I want him dead and I’m pretty sure I could do it! But I don’t want to be that person! I don’t want to be a killer.” He hugged his arms around himself, trying to hold everything inside him, but he couldn’t stop the words from pouring out. “I could be, I could be a killer just like Scott keeps saying I am. And I don’t think I’d care at all after I did it. And if I didn’t, what’s to stop me from doing it again?”

He looked up at Lydia. “You said I wasn’t the Nogitsune but I know how to be!” He dropped his hands and advanced on her, feeling sick when she backed away from him. “I remember everything it did. I know how to make people hurt. I can take their feelings, and I like it.” 

His glamour slid off, and Lydia’s pulse picked up, the vein in her neck cording. If he wanted, he could take what she was feeling right now. 

“What if I use my abilities to make people unable to stop me? Not just with the binding pacts. I have all of the Nemeton inside of me, Lydia. All of the magic; twisted, ugly and hating, waiting for me to use it. In any way I want. Deaton is right, there's no telling what I’m capable of.”

Stiles stopped. His lips were pulled back in a silent snarl, showing his pointy teeth. He backed Lydia into the clinic wall, resting his hand on it, up near her head. He leaned in and whispered, “I could be the next bad guy, just like I was before. Only this time, it would be all me.”

He studied Lydia’s face. Surprisingly, she didn’t look scared, or angry, just very sad. He breathed in. Pulled his glamour back on in the silence that followed his outburst. 

Before he could move away, Lydia touched his face, her hand steady. “Stiles, that’s not you.”

Malia had watched everything without interrupting. As Stiles stepped out of Lydia’s hold, he gave her a slightly reproving look for not stopping him.

“You weren’t going to hurt her,” she explained, knowing what he was going to say. “You may think you’re all scary, but you're not. We know you, Stiles. Even when you don’t want us to. Between all of us, we know everything there is to know about you.”

“Not everything,” Stiles disagreed.

Malia gave him a look. “When you lived in the preserve, I wasn’t worried at all.”

Lydia added, “She really wasn’t. It drove Scott crazy. He thought she was insensitive.”

Malia made a noise of dismissal. “I wasn’t worried because I understood why you’d gone. The call is too strong sometimes, especially if you feel lost. I’ve been there, Stiles. You didn’t surprise me, or hurt me, by leaving. I tried to make everyone understand. When you tricked us again and again, I was impressed. You had Derek, and you had the forest, and it was all you needed. If I’d been able to go when I first changed back to human, I would have stollen you away with me and never returned. The only thing I wanted to tell you was that I understood. That’s why I tried to find you. Not to bring you back.”

Stiles took the time to appreciate what Malia had just said. He’d known she’d struggled with being human and leaving the forest. But before he was fae he hadn’t really understood. Now he did. And she got him, too. “No one else is quite like you, Malia,” he told her.

“I know. But you’re a bit closer than most.”

Stiles didn't know if Malia had worked out how to become a full coyote again. He had a feeling if she had, she wouldn’t be standing there with them. There had been so many times when being a coyote would have been way more appealing to her than being human. It made him feel sad he couldn’t hold on to her, that she could leave so quickly and so finally. That he wasn’t enough to help her remain human. That none of them may be enough when she finally figured it out.

“Oh,” he said. 

This was what everyone was dealing with when it came to him, wasn’t it.

“Malia —”

“I know, Stiles. And it’s okay. We’re both going to be okay.”

“We’ll help each other,” he agreed.

“You’ve always helped me, Stiles. Now I can return the favor.”

Stiles’ phone beeped, and he looked down at it. “Dad?” he exclaimed. 

His dad had sent him a media file. He opened it up, angling the phone so they could all see.

It was a short video, showing Derek and Scott down for the count and not moving. They were lying in Stiles’ cell. The video panned down to the floor where a handwritten note lay. ‘Alan’ was the only word on it.

Then the video stopped.

“Deaton,” Lydia surmised.

The three of them ran back into the animal clinic. 

Deaton was listening to the end of his phone messages when they skidded into the back room. He motioned for them to be quiet as the machine clicked off. 

“Look.” Stiles showed him the video.

Deaton was frowning and looking worried. “Listen to the machine. It picked up before I could answer it and I’m glad it did. We’re in a lot more trouble than we realized.”

Lydia went over to the machine and pressed play.

“Hello, Stiles,” the voice began, then paused.

“Brine,” Stiles whispered.

The cold hard shard in his heart wobbled and threatened to grow. He swallowed, and tightened his hold on it. He would not let his fear get in the way of helping his dad and Parrish. And now Derek and Scott, too. 

Brine started talking again. “You haven’t stopped being surprising. Come meet me. I have a business proposition for you. You’ll remember where we almost met last. Come alone, please. And quickly. This business deal is a delicate thing. Prone to abrupt changes in circumstances.”

Stiles said nothing when the message clicked off.

“He didn’t tell us anything,” Malia said, angrily.

“He did. Just nothing that can tie him to the kidnappings,” Deaton told her. “This message only makes sense to us.”

Lydia shook her head. “I think it only makes full sense to Stiles.” She turned to him. “Where does he want you to go?”

Stiles didn’t answer her. He was working something out. He checked the video he’d been sent, to make sure. 

“Stiles?”

He mumbled to himself as the truth became clear, “He couldn’t have done it and then sent the message. Shit.” 

The bad feeling they had overlooked something made sense now. Stiles wished he'd worked it out sooner. 

“Stiles!” Malia snapped at him. “Stop talking like we understand everything you’re saying.”

Stiles tried to slow down his thinking. “Brine's in the preserve. That’s where he sent the phone call from.”

“Wait, how do you know?” Lydia asked.

“In the background on the message there’s birdsong and the waterfall that’s near where he fell off the cliff.”

“He fell off a cliff?” Malia asked.

“Besides the point,” Stiles said. “It just means he couldn’t have taken down Derek and Scott, got to the preserve, trekked in to where he wants us to meet and called to leave that message in the time he’s had to do it all in.”

Deaton caught on. “He’s had help.”

Stiles nodded. “That’s why Derek didn’t smell anyone watching here, or wherever else they’ve been. He only knows Brine’s scent. And maybe it wasn’t even his.” 

More of the puzzle started falling into place.

“Again, Stiles, what?" Malia asked him.

“There was a guy at my house one night, I thought it must have been Brine. But if he had help, it could have been them. Derek caught a scent too, later on, and I recognized it, it was the stuff in the boot of Brine’s car that made me pass out when he took me. I just thought it was him. It had to be. But it could have been someone working with him. I know he never smelt of it when he was in the cell with me. Only his car did.”

“The smell made you pass out?” Deaton asked.

“That, shock, and the paralyzing injections,” Stiles snapped, sarcastically. He hadn’t forgotten who’d helped to make it all possible.

“What did it smell like?” Deaton persisted.

“Rotten curry. Really bad,” Stiles answered. “Why?”

“Rue, St. John’s Wort and yarrow. Possibly vervain. I gave Gavin a list. They have a negative effect on fae when used in certain ways.”

“Well. Thank you for that,” Stiles told him. 

“If Brine’s at the preserve, who knocked Derek and Scott unconscious?” Lydia asked. 

She grabbed Stiles’ phone off the table and watched the video again. “Look there. There’s bright blue dust on the ground near the note.”

“Fricking cornish pixies!” snarled Stiles. He ignored everyone’s confused look.

“But this is good,” Deaton said. “If Gavin’s accomplices used that powder on them not knowing they're werewolves, Derek and Scott may have the upper hand.”

“You mean, besides them being knocked out cold?” Malia asked, with no small trace of disbelief. 

“The powder doesn’t work on supernatural creatures for as long as it does on humans,” Deaton answered. “They may be able to surprise the people who did that to them.”

Stiles let a sliver of hope creep into his heart. He was trying so hard to keep calm and not imagine what was happening. He couldn’t afford to dwell too long on Derek and Scott being in the same cell he’d been in, or his dad and Parrish still missing.

“That’s all good and everything, but it doesn’t change one very real problem,” Malia pointed out. “Stiles has to go to this cliff by himself, or I’m guessing Brine will hurt his dad and Parrish and maybe have Derek and Scott hurt, too.”

“You’re right,” Stiles agreed with her. “I have to go.”

“Stiles,” Lydia protested, “you can’t.”

“Brine said quickly, Lyds. How fast is that? Half an hour? Two hours? Enough time to get to Derek and Scott if they’re still in the cell?” Stiles gave her a small smile. “You have to do that bit while I’m doing mine.”

Deaton looked torn, but he agreed with Stiles when Lydia turned to him. “We hold none of the cards right now, but perhaps things may change if we play for time.”

Stiles didn’t need Deaton’s approval to go, but it did mean that Lydia stopped trying to change his mind. 

Malia said to him in all seriousness, “You can do this. After all, you’re a baddass fae, right?”

Lydia followed Stiles out to the parking lot. Stiles was just about to sunlight-leap to the preserve when his phone rang. It was Derek.

“Derek?” Stiles asked, afraid of the answer.

“Stiles!”

Stiles sighed as a huge rush of relief swept over him.

“Stiles, are you all safe?” Derek asked him. It sounded like he was in the jeep, driving.

“Yeah. God, Derek, what happened? I got sent a video of you and Scott unconscious! Where’s Scott, is he with you?”

“He’s on his bike. We’re on our way back to you. We were ambushed by that stupid blue powder. There were two men. I’ll tell you the details later. But, Stiles, neither one was Brine.”

“Yeah, we worked out he had help,” Stiles told him. 

He didn’t know his hand was shaking until Lydia took the phone out of his grasp and turned on the speaker, holding it out. She didn’t say a word, just looked at him. 

Stiles put his hands under his armpits, and took a slow breath in through his nose and out through his mouth.

Derek was still talking, “We woke up fast. Idiots didn’t keep us in the powder circles. We were able to get out of the room with no trouble.” Stiles could hear the underlying fury in his tone.

“Did you stop them?” Lydia asked.

“Lydia?” Derek asked, not realizing he’d been on speaker. “No.” There was an audible growl. “They were gone when we woke up.”

“Probably on their way to the preserve,” Stiles noted.

“The preserve? Why would they be going there?” Derek asked.

Lydia answered before Stiles could. “Stiles was told by Brine to meet him there, alone. He was just about to go when you called.” She looked unrepentantly at Stiles.

“Stiles, don’t you dare!” Derek yelled down the phone. There were sounds of the jeep speeding up. “I’m almost at the animal clinic, Scott’s ahead of me. Don’t do anything stupid, Stiles, please! Lydia, stop him!”

“Aside from screaming at him, I can’t,” Lydia apologized. “Derek, we don’t have a lot of time here. This is about Stiles’ dad. And Jordan.” Her voice broke a little. Lydia had hidden her stress so well under a stony determination, it was only now the cracks were starting to show.

Stiles couldn’t wait any longer. He interrupted Derek’s continued rant, “Derek.”

“Stiles, please,” Derek pleaded.

“I have to go now, Der. I’ll be careful.” 

Stiles and Lydia were staring at each other as Stiles took his phone from Lydia’s outstretched hand and turned it off fully. The sudden ending of Derek’s voice telling him to wait was enough to make him question himself.

“I’m doing the only thing I can, right?”

“I think so,” Lydia agreed, biting her bottom lip. 

“I’ll get them back, Lyds. I’ll bring Jordan back to you,” he promised.

“Just do it and keep yourself safe." They shared a tight hug, and Lydia added, “As soon as Scott and Derek arrive, we’ll follow you. Where’s the cliff?”

“Remember where you got stuck? Up the top of that valley is the waterfall. On the side of it there’s a recent rock slide. Above that is where I’ll try first.” 

Stiles held out his hand and they both looked at it. There were slight tremors. Stiles cursed, and shook his hand out. 

“Derek’s going to be so mad at me. Don’t let him take it out on you."

“I won’t,” Lydia promised. “Keep your phone on you and call us when you can.”

 

***

 

When Stiles sunlight-leapt to the preserve he made sure to be a fair distance away from the actual spot where Brine had told him to go.

He immediately let his glamour drop, and listened to the forest. The trees almost bowled him over with their clamoring. He’d been ignoring the preserve since he’d gone home, and someone had been disrupting things in his absence. There was ugly magic at use, tearing at the energy lines. It was done with an un-schooled hand, jagged and disruptive, with no harmony in the thought behind it.

Stiles shook his head at the rush of wrong that came over him. How had he not sensed this before? He pushed himself further, deeper into the roots of the trees. There was nothing but bad intent, fluctuating and pulsing through the earth.

It had to be Brine.

Why hadn’t the Nemeton sounded a warning? Surely its own magic was being affected.

Stiles checked through his connection to the Tree, but nothing was out of place. His illusions still held, the Nemeton was safe.

“So, you haven’t managed to find it yet,” he muttered. 

He was pretty certain the reason Brine was doing all of this was to get to the Tree. Stiles didn’t know why he wanted to, but Brine’s wife had been one of the druids who cut it down. There was obviously something more to it than that, but for now it alluded him.

Stiles’ theory was part of the reason he’d come to the preserve alone. Even though he was here for his dad and Parrish, he also needed to find out what Brine was doing. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to get the answers he needed if everyone was there, because he wasn’t sure what he’d have to do to get them.

Stiles pulled his awareness back from the trees so he wasn’t swamped by their cries, but didn’t stop the connection altogether. He pulled the sunlight around him until he blended into his surrounds. He used the air to muffle his sound, and then he ran, speeding through the forest.

As worried as he was for his dad and Parrish, and his forest, he couldn’t help but feel better being back where he belonged.

 

***

 

Stiles stopped short of the group of trees which lined the cliff edge. Someone was sitting on a large rock a few metres from the drop. It wasn’t Brine.

Stiles checked for anyone else who could be hiding. But the only person he could sense was the one before him. He double checked, not wanting to miss something by not being careful.

His second check only confirmed it. Neither Brine, nor his dad, nor Parrish, were anywhere close. 

Something in Stiles ached and growled like an angry wolf. He wanted his dad back, damn it. This bastard was going to give him information about his dad’s whereabouts or he was going over the cliff edge with a lot more force than Brine had.

Even though he was angry, Stiles still didn’t go any closer. He didn’t want to rush and do something stupid.

He waited, watching.

After a period of time, he finally crept closer, slowly, remembering how he’d seen deer moving through the trees, ever aware of danger. Stiles didn’t have his pack with him to help spot it like the deer had their herd, but he wasn’t going to get caught by Brine again.

When he was only a few trees away he stopped again. The guy hadn’t moved in all of that time. He had his face tipped up to the sun and for all accounts he looked like an average young hiker who was a bit on the feral side. If it hadn’t been for the huge knife handle sticking out of his right boot and the pistol laying on his thigh in his hand, Stiles could almost believe it. 

“Where’s Brine?” Stiles asked, without coming out from hiding.

The young man swore, opened his eyes and brought the gun up, all in one motion, pointing it with eery accuracy where Stiles had been standing a second before. 

Stiles was now behind the guy, having sunlight-leaped as soon as he spoke, and he didn’t make another sound.

The guy stood up slowly, and looked around. “Who’s there?”

“You work for Brine, don’t you?” Stiles moved away again as the gun swung around.

“Yeah, I do,” the guy agreed. “You want to come out where I can see you?”

“Where’s Brine?” Stiles made his voice sound right next to the guy’s ear, a trick he’d mastered while teasing the pack in the preserve.

The guy flinched, showing how un-nerved he actually was. That meant he probably wasn’t a trained supernatural hunter. One of them wouldn’t sweat after a few little sound tricks.

“He’s not here,” the guy said.

“Obviously,” Stiles agreed. “Tell me where he is.”

“Come out so I can see you,” the guy told him again, with more bravery than Stiles wanted him to have.

“I’m right here.”

Stiles let the guy see him for a split second, in full fae face, right in front of him, before he sunlight-leaped away.

He was only just quick enough.

The gun shot echoed through the forest, as the guy screamed out, “Fuck!” 

The bullet hit a tree behind where Stiles had been. He’d felt the air being displaced as he’d leaped through the sunlight. He was honestly as shaken as the guy was. He wasn’t sure if he’d survive a gun shot wound to the chest at point blank range. He swore silently at himself. He’d been reckless. 

The guy was shaking now, enough that his gun was wriggling around, which was more than enough for Stiles to back away and get behind another tree. 

He waited for the guy to calm some, before he said, “Things would go better for you without the gun.”

“I’ll keep it, yeah?” The guy couldn’t get a handle on where Stiles’ voice was coming from. He kept turning around in a circle.

Stiles stayed behind his tree and sent his voice from more than one direction. It made him sound like he was three different people. 

“Where is Brine?”

The guy was breathing deeply and his eyes were wide in his pale face. 

Stiles realized under all the dirt and grime of the forest, the young man was only a boy. About the same age as Liam and Mason. His deep voice had helped to trick Stiles into believing he was older.

That, and the gun. 

For some reason, Stiles had difficulty believing a child held a gun on him.

His anger started to fade. He couldn’t permanently hurt a child. Not even one who helped take his dad.

Stiles wished his control over air allowed him to stop bullets, or even freeze the guy where he stood, but no such luck. He had a certain mastery over himself and that was it. Enough to trick and misdirect. He wasn’t all powerful, no matter what he’d told Lydia he was worried about becoming, and he felt all of that helplessness now. 

“I’ll come out if you lower your gun.” 

He slid his glamour back on and, when the boy did as he’d asked, he stepped out from behind his tree, slowly. 

The boy blinked. “You’re not that older than me,” he blurted out.

“I thought the same thing, only in reverse,” Stiles told him. He kept his hands in his pockets and leant against the tree, trying to look as normal as possible and as non-threatening. 

The boy seemed to have forgotten the gun, held lax by his side. Stiles wasn’t completely fooled, but he did feel better without it pointing at him.

The boy stared at him, and then abruptly sat down on the rock he’d been on before. “Brine didn’t tell me you were like this.” He waved his free hand at Stiles.

“No?”

“No.” The boy was ready to talk if Stiles let him. “He told me you were a scary-as-fuck monster, like that face I saw before.” His eyes narrowed and his grip on the gun got tighter. 

Stiles swore under his breath. 

“That was you though, right? That thing?”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Stiles tried to reassure him.

“Yeah, right.” The boy started to raise the gun again.

“Why are you here?” Stiles asked, stalling. The gun stopped, pointing at the ground near his feet. “Why didn’t Brine come?”

“He’s a paranoid asshole, that’s why,” the boy explained, then shook his head at himself.

Stiles hummed. “I remember that about him.”

“He told me you’d met before.” The boy was curious, despite his fear.

There was something about this kid. Obviously there was a story here, but Stiles didn’t have the time to figure him out. He needed to know what Brine was playing at. 

“Yeah. We met. When he kidnapped me. Now he has my dad.”

“Ah, one of the men he has in the ... ” the boy stopped short.

Stiles’ heart tried to expand with hope, but the cold hard shard kept it still. “They’re still alive?”

“Oh, yeah, don’t worry about that. Brine hasn’t hurt them apart from keeping them asleep most of the time.”

Stiles couldn’t help the exclamation of relief that came out of him.

The boy looked surprised. “What kind of monster are you?”

Stiles wasn’t about to tell this kid the truth. It also looked like Brine hadn’t been very forthcoming either. “I’m the kind who wants to get his father and friend back safely. Can you help me with that?”

The boy nodded his head, and Stiles was shocked, until a nasty grin spread over the boys' face. “Well, sure. That’s why I’m here. Do you know the black lightning tree? Near the open grassland, next to the main picnic ground?”

Stiles hadn’t gone near the picnic grounds when he was living in the forest. But he knew the one the boy spoke of. He nodded his head. Surely he could find the tree.

“Go there.”

“That’s it?” Stiles couldn’t help but get angry. “Brine sent you to tell me that? Why didn’t he just tell me in the first place?”

The boy made an uncaring face. “Like I said, paranoid. I just had to make sure you were alone.”

“What makes you think I’m alone?” Stiles wanted to scare this annoying little child, but he held back.

“No one came when the gun went off,” the boy reasoned, and he gave Stiles a look suited to a much older person.

Stiles stopped leaning against the tree, and glared at the boy. It was enough, even without his fae face, that the boy’s bravado slipped a bit before he was raising his gun once more. 

Stiles sneered at him, and stepped back, further into the shadows behind the tree. He made himself disappear from view.

The boy swore again when he lost sight of Stiles, and slowly he moved towards the tree. He kept the gun raised and backed away quickly, looking around. 

“You still here?” he called out.

The boy spent a tense minute or two glancing around under the trees, but didn’t pick Stiles out of the shadows. Eventually, he retrieved a bag from behind the large rock he’d sat on, pulled out his phone, and made a call. 

“He came,” the boy said. “Just like you said he would. … Yeah, I told him. He’s gone. … How would I know? I’m guessing he’s gone to the picnic grounds, playing your little follow-the-leader game.”

The boy grew quiet, possibly getting chewed out for his attitude if his falling face was anything to go by.

Eventually he spoke again, “He didn’t seem so bad. … No, I just mean, yeah, he was scary, but he also seemed pretty normal. … Maybe he really does just want his dad back. … No. I guess not. … Well he didn’t hurt me! … Yeah, I remember what you said about him. … Fine! Yeah, I’m coming.” 

The boy hung up the phone with aggression and glared at it with an ugly sneer. “You asshole,” he said, angrily. 

Stiles wanted to believe the boy had been talking to Brine. But he wasn’t about to make the same mistake he’d made more than once already. He wasn’t going to assume anything when it came to that bastard. 

He watched the boy shoulder his bag and start walking back down from the cliff edge. He made good time, hoofing it faster than Stiles would have given him credit for. He let the boy go ahead of him and, when he was out of earshot, pulled out his phone.

He texted Derek that the meet had been a sham and not to call him right now because the boy would hear the ring. Almost immediately, he got a text back. Stiles could tell from the wording Derek was incredibly angry with him.

They texted for a while, long enough for Stiles to explain most of what had happened, leaving out the gun and almost being shot, and told him of the instructions he was supposed to be following. Derek let him know one of the pack would check it out. Stiles couldn’t express enough that whoever it was needed to be careful. 

Then he listened to the trees and tracked where the boy had gone. He was further away than Stiles thought he’d be. He was a real mover. 

Stiles ran after him. 

 

***


	21. The Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of the frying pan ...

Stiles thought for sure the boy would go to the nearest car park area and drive off, and he’d been trying to figure out what to do if that happened. Instead, they were moving further into the forest towards the Nemeton, making him stop to check it really was safe.

Nothing was out of place, except for the wrong feeling which lay under everything, soaking into the preserve. 

Stiles stopped as the boy did, watching him rest and drink a sip of water. He was curious as to how this boy, at his young age, got endurance such as he was showing.

They were in a natural depression, carved into the earth from rain running down the nearby mountainside. It was deeper than the boy’s head and quite narrow. He’d walked along it for a while and the ground was too steep to climb back up, so Stiles presumed he’d keep following it.

The boy called someone on his phone, and Stiles listened in. 

“It’s me, I’m coming through. … Well, maybe I’m telling you because I don’t feel like being shot, or maybe it’s because it’s protocol. Could be both. … Then why don’t you check.” The boy hung up and rolled his eyes skyward then leaned back against the ditch wall with his arms crossed, seeming content to wait.

As Stiles waited with him, up above the ditch behind a tree, he cast himself into the air to check who the boy was waiting for. What he found surprised him. He thought he knew the preserve pretty well. It was huge, so he hadn’t travelled all of it while living there, but he’d made sure to map the area around the Nemeton and what he was seeing right now did not fit with what had been there before. It was wrong. The whole area was wrong. This ditch was supposed to end and then turn into more forest, with no real landmarks or anything to make it stand out. 

He must have gotten turned around in his head somehow and was in a different part of the preserve to where he thought they were. But when he floated up above the trees on a wind gust, he found he was right in his first assumption. He could tell where the Nemeton was, knew the mountains, the hills, the valleys around this area. 

So what was he looking at then?

There was an opening up ahead where the ditch widened into a flat area. It looked like a bowl of earth had been scooped out, leaving an almost circular rim, around which the trees grew thickly, giving cover for the men who’d pitched camp within.

Stiles flew around on the breeze. 

He dipped below tent lines, brushed up into the air above a fire pit. The site had been well-lived in. He counted two men in the camp, both as feral looking as the boy was. One was a white-haired older man. He had so many wrinkles he must have spent his entire life outdoors. He was standing near two square sheets of metal lying flat on the ground. 

The other man, middle-aged, short, stocky, and angry looking, was coming down through the camp towards where the boy was waiting, a gun held loosely in his hand. By the way he moved, this guy didn’t seem to have any hunter training either.

Stiles still hadn’t found Brine anywhere and was beginning to feel desperate when he dropped back into his body. If Brine wasn’t at the camp, where the hell was he? 

Stiles stayed behind his tree, watching as the man came into view down in the ditch. The boy looked up at the approaching footsteps and followed when the man gestured with his head.

Stiles texted this new development to Derek. He explained as best he could about the area being different to how he remembered but still couldn’t work out how that could be. It was like the more he thought of it, the more his mind grew weary and unfocused. 

Derek almost immediately texted back, telling Stiles to stay put and wait for him, wait for the pack.

Stiles was about to ask how far away they were when he worked out why the metal sheets in the camp had struck him as odd. They were coverings to pits. Large enough to hold two men maybe. Down in the earth, where they couldn’t get out.

Stiles' heart started thumping hard at the thought his dad and Parrish may be only a few hundred feet away.

“Keep it together,” he mumbled to himself, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth as numerous rescue ideas floated around in his brain. He held up his hands, checking them. They were only shaking a little. 

His phone vibrated against his hip. He read the several texts he’d received, mostly from Derek and Scott, one from Lydia, and they all said the same thing in numerous ways.

Wait for them. 

He texted a group message, mentioning the pits, and settled back against the tree he was still hiding behind. His eyes drooped closed and he blinked and rubbed at them before shaking his head to clear it.

If his dad was in one of those pits, and Brine worked out Stiles wasn’t at the lightning-struck tree at the picnic ground the boy had sent him to, which he would sooner rather than later, what would become of his dad? Of Parrish? The boy said they’d been kept asleep most of the time and Stiles hoped that meant in non-damaging ways. At least his dad would have less hours to remember when he was finally home and safe.

Stiles’ head shot up from his chest where it had fallen forward, and his eyes opened wide.

He was tired. Why was he tired?

He turned in a circle, seeing nothing unusual, but catching the scent of burning herbs. The rotten curry smell was wafting faintly through the air. It brought very bad memories to the forefront of his mind and he put his hands over his face to block them out. He shoved them down into the cold hard shard, ignoring how badly his chest was beginning to hurt.

Stiles took off his flannel shirt and tied it around his face, making a mask to cover his nose and mouth. After a few minutes his head cleared, and he started towards the camp.

 

***

 

Stiles walked through the camp checking every tent without the boy or the two men knowing he was there. 

The oldest man stayed near the metal sheets so Stiles hadn’t been able to see underneath them. There was no sound coming from them, but Parrish and his dad were possibly asleep.

The other man and the boy had entered one of the tents and were quietly going about camp duties. Stiles watched them for a while, hoping they’d talk about something important, but they’d barely even acknowledged each other. The boy gave the man dirty looks behind his back now and again. Clearly he was not a happy camper.

Stiles found no one else at the camp, just like when he’d air-travelled over it. He still didn’t know where Brine was, but if his dad was in one of the pits it was definitely better if Brine wasn’t there. 

Stiles made sure to stay away from the fire where the herbs were, the smoke blowing up and over the camp from a deep rectangular cooking pot. Even so, he could tell he was being affected, as he had to keep blinking and rubbing his eyes. 

The biggest tent, the last one he checked, held something interesting. There was the normal camp bed in the corner, backpacks tumbled around the tent sides, but on a small wooden table in the middle of the room was something covered by a grimy sheet. Stiles was immediately pulled towards it. With his glamour down, he could see the magic swirling off whatever it was. He knew it was Nemeton wood, but the feeling coming off of it was so twisted he wasn’t game to touch it. 

He edged nearer, carefully feeling his way through the magic swirls, trying to get a better picture of what the wood had been made for. He hadn’t found such strong magic in a piece of Nemeton wood before, and it was worrying such a powerful object was in Brine’s hands.

The magic tumbled off the table down into the earth, and Stiles didn’t want to tread on the ground where it flowed. He was willing to bet he'd found the cause of the disturbance he’d been sensing since he’d come back to the preserve.

He was torn with indecision. Part of him wanted to rip through the dark and nasty magic, pull out the brightness sitting inside it, change the wood back to what it had once been. Another part of him was unable to get past the fact this Nemeton wood, in whatever form it took under the sheet, was under Brine’s control. Had been touched and used by him.

Stiles backed out of the tent and was planning what to do next, when both the middle-aged man and the boy stepped out from theirs. The man called over to the pits, while he put a phone back into his pocket. “He’s coming. Sounds pissed.”

“He’s always pissed,” the boy added, unhelpfully. He returned the sneer the man gave him.

The older man stood up straighter in response to the words, but otherwise didn’t move from the metal sheets. Both the boy and the younger man stood still, watching the ditch. 

After a while there was movement and a man emerged. He had the same feral look they all sported, dirt and grime and a general outdoor-living vibe. He had a massive wiry beard and hard eyes.

When Brine stepped out of the ditch behind the bearded guy, Stiles couldn’t help the noise that came out of him involuntarily, and was glad he still had the air deflecting sound from him. 

Brine looked slightly less feral then his men, and there was an air of authority around him, marking him clearly as their leader. The cruel determination under the dirt on his skin had Stiles remembering when that same face sneered down at him in the cell. 

Stiles took a few steps back, stumbling out of the immediate camp ground site, as Brine stalked towards the largest tent. His men went about their duties, one checking the herbs over the fire pit, while Brine disappeared inside the tent. 

Stiles tried to breathe through the shirt still covering his face. Everything was dark around the edges of his sight.

He searched for the familiar presence of the trees, but all that came through was the prevalent sense of wrong coming from the object Brine controlled.

He could feel the cold hard shard in his heart start to splinter, the pain in his chest overwhelming, as flash after flash of memories from his abduction assaulted him. 

Brine pushing down on him, until he couldn't breathe.

Brine telling him he was going to die. He was going to kill him.

Brine pushing the metal pins through his wrists.

Stiles staggered back from the camp site and found an old tree. He pulled himself up into its branches and rested his forehead on the trunk. He gripped the bark tightly and reached down past the sense of wrong, down deeper into the tree’s dreaming. 

He fell into its awareness and everything else was lost to him.

 

***

 

When Stiles floated back into himself, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed. It was late afternoon now, coming on evening by the looks of the deepening shadows around him.

He got out his phone and checked the time. Surprisingly, it had only been an hour since he’d texted Derek last. He had numerous missed texts. The pack had grown increasingly worried about his lack of response. Derek was frantic, if Stiles read between the stilted words correctly. He sent off a text, stating that he was okay and asking where they were. They should be getting close to the camp by now.

He rubbed at the back of his head, cursing the headache sitting at the base of his skull. He dared to remove his shirt from around his face and took a breath in. When he detected no herbs, he relaxed a little and put his shirt back on properly, pulling the sleeves over his hands in a gesture of comfort. 

The shard was still in his heart and the pain in his chest was a deep ache. He had a feeling connecting to the tree had staved off the worse part of his panic attack, but he worried it would come back.

His phone pinged with numerous texts all at once, and he had to smile.

He read through them, and sat thinking. The pack was still quite a fair distance away. He hadn’t thought of it before, but his illusions to protect the Nemeton were creating a barrier he couldn’t take down. Not with Brine so close to the Tree. It was possible Derek and the others wouldn’t be able to find this place.

It was possible Stiles was on his own.

He rubbed at his head again, trying to lesson the headache. He would wait a bit longer. He slowly slipped down out of the tree and moved back to the camp. He was determined to make sure his dad was under that metal sheeting if nothing else.

Luck was going his way. The herbs were no longer smoking over the fire pit, the clear air very welcome, and the older man wasn’t standing over the pits. In fact, as Stiles looked around, there wasn’t anyone anywhere. 

Using this opportunity, he lifted the edge of one sheet. It was heavy and wanted to drag as he lifted, even with his fae strength. He had to go slow so the metal didn’t rumble as it slid across the ground. 

He’d been right. There was a hole down there, deep and dark, but even through the deepening shadows of evening, Stiles made out a figure.

“Dad?” he whispered. 

The figure below stirred. 

“Dad?”

“Stiles?” Parrish’s voice floated up to him, unfocused.

“Parrish? Is Dad down there?”

“No, where am I?”

“No time to explain,” Stiles whispered. “You okay?”

“I think so.”

“Okay, just hang on.” 

Stiles went to go over to the other metal sheet, his adrenalin ramped up in anticipation, when the flap on the largest tent was whipped back and Brine came storming out, followed by the three men and the boy.

“Stiles!” Brine roared out, causing Stiles to freeze. 

His heart was in his mouth, assuming Brine had seen him.

A quick check to make sure he was still shrouded had a little of his fear ebb away. Watching Brine cast his eyes around the tree line at the edge of the clearing made it obvious his whereabouts was still unknown.

“Stiles! I know you’re here!” Brine yelled out to the trees. “My man said you never showed up to the picnic area!” He pocketed a phone and gestured to the two men and the boy. “Check the camp.”

They hurried to obey him, ducking into the other tents, guns in hands.

Stiles’ heart was thumping along in his ears. He hadn’t moved since Brine had yelled out the first time. Stuck, like a rabbit in headlights. The longer he stood there, watching Brine walk around with his men, checking the camp area, the more Stiles wanted to do something. 

This was stupid. He was being stupid. He was fae for God’s sake!

Stiles was severely angry at himself. He could feel it bubbling away, overlapping his anxiety and drowning out the pain in his chest. Surely he wasn’t going to let a little fear stop him from rescuing his dad?

His hands were shaking when he moved, straightening up from where he’d been hunched over. He could hear Parrish moving around in his pit and hoped he wouldn’t call out.

Brine stopped and turned, looking in Stiles’ direction. He jogged over to the metal sheets with two of his men, forcing Stiles to move away. Brine’s quick eyes took in the moved sheet over Parrish’s pit. 

“Did you do this?” he asked the older man who’d been guarding it.

The man shook his head. 

Brine grinned. “He is here,” he said to himself. He motioned to the metal sheeting. “Get them out.”

Older Man and Beard Guy shoved the sheeting off the pit Stiles hadn’t touched, their muscles straining. Stiles had no idea how Brine had managed to get the heavy sheets into the camp site.

Middle-aged Man came back from a tent with a small ladder and placed it into the hole. He climbed down inside and, with the others pulling, managed to push Stiles’ dad up the ladder and out of the hole, lying him on the ground.

With strength of will, Stiles stopped himself from running into the group, forcing himself to watch only. 

His dad was coming around and blinking. He scowled at everyone. He had a gag in his mouth and was taking sucking breaths in though his nose. His coloring was worrying; a deep red flush visible up his neck and on his face. Stiles hoped it was from anger and not lack of oxygen.

His dad managed to get up onto his knees while Brine watched the scuffle occurring over at Parrish’s pit. Parrish had come around enough to put up a struggle when they pulled him out. It was short lived because Older Man stuck him in the neck with a needle and he collapsed heavily.  
Parrish was still awake, glaring at them all, but unable to move. Stiles commiserated, knowing what that was like.

Brine was smirking by now. Everything was obviously going his way. 

“Stiles!” he called, and Stiles jumped. “Show yourself! I know you’re here, don’t make this go on longer than it has to. My men would appreciate going home, they’ve been here long enough.”

There were muted noises of agreement from the three men and the boy as they stood around Brine.

Stiles was hit with indecisiveness. He had a bad feeling where Brine was going with this, but he would wait for the pack to help him. He couldn’t take on Brine by himself.

“Very well,” Brine sighed dramatically. “Shoot him,” he nodded to Parrish.

Before Stiles could even gasp, Middle-aged Man pulled out his gun and shot Parrish in the thigh.

Parrish’s eyes widened and he let out a choked scream. 

Stiles’ dad threw himself at the nearest man, who happened to be Beard Guy, tackling him. But again the fight was short-lived as Middle-aged Man silently pointed the gun at him. He climbed off his target, scowling the entire time, and fell onto his knees when he was kicked down by Beard Guy.

“Next bullet goes in your dad,” Brine told the air. “In three, two …”

Stiles pulled his glamour back on, hiding his fae face, then dropped the illusions around him and became visible, cursing that he couldn’t do anything else. 

Brine flinched. His men and the boy fumbled their guns at Stiles’ sudden appearance, before they got under control and leveled the guns at him. 

His dad groaned behind his gag and shook his head, catching Stiles’ eye. 

“You have new tricks,” Brine sneered, covering up his surprise. “Now you’re here, we can get on with things.” He motioned for Stiles to follow him into the large tent, and walked away, clearly expecting him to follow. 

When Stiles paused, looking at his dad and Parrish, Brine called over his shoulder, “Put them back in the pits.”

The boy stepped in between Stiles and his dad, as his dad was shoved into the hole. There was a thud that made the boy grin nastily at Stiles. Parrish followed, rolled into his own pit. 

Stiles was about to jump the boy when a noise stopped him short. He glared over at the pits. Older Man was calmly pointing a gun down into his dad’s hole. He raised his eyebrows in question. Stiles dropped his hands from where they were outstretched like claws.

Brine chuckled behind him. “Get in here,” he ordered, and dropped the tent flap behind himself.

The boy was obviously shaken from Stiles’ near attack, but was trying to cover it up by sneering. Stiles wasn’t fooled. He sent the boy a death-glare and followed Brine into his tent.

 

***

 

Stiles wasn’t sure what he expected, but Brine sitting on the bed and smiling at him was not it.

He stood, uncertain, and not without a little fear, near the tent flap. He tried not to look at the small table with the sheet covering the Nemeton wood, but it was hard not to. Even with his glamour on, he could feel its magic creeping into the ground.

Brine started to talk, causing Stiles to flinch. Brine’s smile widened, and Stiles berated himself for giving him any more satisfaction. 

“Didn’t think we’d be meeting again, Stiles. Not when I left you for dead. How did you survive?”

Stiles said nothing, licking his dry lips. Brine’s eyes narrowed and Stiles had to force himself to not step backwards. 

“Not that it matters now, though it did cause me some unforeseen difficulties. But, now that you’re here, everything can continue like it should.” Brine stood up and walked around the table. 

Stiles edged further into the tent’s interior, on the opposite side of the table to Brine. He hid his shaking hands in his shirt pockets. He was desperately wishing for his body to hold out just a bit longer before shutting down on him. He could feel the shard in his heart throb, making his chest pains bloom, but did his best to breath normally and focus on saving his dad and Parrish. He wished his pack would show up. He wasn’t sure he could do this on his own.

“Not going to say anything? You were pretty mouthy when we first met,” Brine said, placing his hand on top of the sheet covering the Nemeton wood. He grinned at Stiles. “Did I torture the smart-ass right out of you?”

Stiles swallowed at the casual mention of his pain. Something stirred inside him. It wasn’t fear so he grabbed onto it, holding it close. 

Brine pulled the sheet off the Nemeton wood with a flourish. “Here’s where you and I have a heart-to-heart, Stiles. Bit hard if you’re not going to talk back, but we’ll make do. Do you like my toy?”

The Nemeton wood was a large bowl. It was filled with dirt which had been flattened out in the centre and raised around the edges. There were two holes in the dirt. It tugged at something in Stiles’ memory, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“It’s familiar to you, I can see it in your eyes,” Brine gloated. “That just helps confirm my theory even further. You’ve seen this bowl before.”

Stiles spoke before he thought about it, “No, I haven’t.”

“You do have a tongue!” Brine said, delighted. “And don’t lie to me. Of course, that’s what I should expect of you, but I don’t appreciate it.”

Now that Stiles had spoken, it was like a damn had opened up inside him. The feeling he’d been holding onto grew, and he glared at Brine. “I haven’t seen the bowl before.”

Brine interrupted, “Now we’re getting somewhere. But of course, I don’t need you to tell me the truth. The bowl is just a means to an end. It helped me create this little hide-a-way.” He waved a hand to indicate everything around him.

“You mean the camp area?” Stiles asked, frowning. He glanced down at the two holes in the dirt.

“Well, yes, of course. Don’t play stupid with me. You know how it works. Put the dirt in, move it around, the area moves too. Helpful when you want two large hostage pits.”

Stiles worked out why the formation inside the bowl looked familiar. He was looking at the camp site, the pits and the raised lip all around the edge of the camp where all the trees but a few random ones had been forced back.

He took a moment to be truly horrified at the power the bowl held, knowing he’d have to stop it the first chance he got.

It was little wonder everything was so vastly wrong. Using magic to move such an immense amount of earth, disturbing the natural energy lines and tree growth? It was amazing the trees were only calling out, not screaming. It also explained why the Nemeton didn’t feel anything was wrong. The bowl was a part of it and in the Tree’s chopped-down half-asleep dirty-magic state, it couldn’t distinguish anything else.

Stiles cursed inwardly. He really needed to heal the Tree. But first …

“Okay, you used the bowl, goodie for you. What’s next?”

“Next, I kill you,” Brine said, just as matter-of-factly as he had the very first time he’d said it. “And this time, you really die.”

 

***


	22. The Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All endings are beginnings.

Stiles had tried his best since he’d first been rescued not to think about his abduction. There was so much fear and pain and suffering attached to the memories that he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t live through them again. They’d never gone away fully, he’d just gotten better at ignoring them. 

He’d known it was unhealthy to bottle it all up, but he couldn’t get past it. Easier to ignore the past and deal with the panic attacks. He’d honestly thought when Brine's identity came to light that maybe the pressure of not remembering would get easier. But it had gotten worse. He could feel the memories pressing up against his subconscious, demanding in their intensity for him to relive them. When Brine had taken his dad, the memories had surfaced again. 

Now, as Brine told him he was going to kill him, just like before, Stiles thought he would pass out.

But that’s not what happened.

Instead everything grew very clear and still. It was as if the world stopped moving. Stiles could walk over to Brine and rip out his heart without Brine even blinking. 

Of course, it wasn’t true. The world kept moving. Brine blinked, and then smiled in his easy way. 

And Stiles found himself smiling back. Because in that second of clarity, his brain finally started to work again and now he had a plan.

His smile made Brine pause.

“Why is it so important for you to kill me?” Stiles asked, warming up to his plan. “You told me it wasn’t the end game.”

“That was before I found out you were the Nemeton’s protector,” Brine said, narrowing his eyes at Stiles, trying to figure him out.

Stiles was radiating assuredness. Better than the panic and anxiety he’d been living in for too long. He didn’t even flinch when Brine mentioned who he was. Sure, it was surprising he’d worked it out, but it also made several things clearer to Stiles. 

His new understanding made him bold. “You can’t get near the Nemeton while I’m alive. And you need to.”

“Clever little fae, aren’t you?” Brine snarled at him. He hated it when Stiles talked back. Wanted him to, but hated it all the same. 

“You wanted to have a chat, so let’s chat.” Stiles sat down on the ground, startling Brine.

He gave a thought to both his dad and Parrish. He hoped Parrish wasn’t bleeding out from his gunshot wound. Hopefully being a hellhound meant he was already healing. It was obvious now no one had any idea what Parrish was, which had probably kept him alive.

Brine studied Stiles for a while, before he sat back on the camp bed. “Didn’t pick you for being friends with a druid.” 

Stiles shrugged. “I aim to surprise.”

Brine actually looked like he wanted to laugh at that. “Never thought Alan would be friends with a dirty fae, either.” His eyes glittered dangerously. 

“Your wife was a druid, wasn’t she.” Stiles tilted his head, watching carefully. Two could play at this game.

Brine stood up, clenching his fists, his eyes narrowed to slits as he spat out, “You don’t get to speak of her!”

“I’m wild fae, I speak of whatever I choose,” Stiles shot back.

“I have your father. I will kill him if you don’t do what I want!”

“What do you want, apart from my death and getting to the Nemeton? What good will it do you?”

“I will have the Nemeton’s power, I will destroy all fae! I will make them pay for killing my family!”

Stiles thought he’d worked it all out now. There was just one thing that Brine hadn’t factored into his plan.

It didn’t matter if Stiles died. 

The Nemeton’s power wouldn’t transfer to Brine because of his death. If that was the case, the power would have been there for the taking when the last fae left the grove and the protector was no more. Instead, the Nemeton’s power had shriveled to almost nothing compared to what it had been. Even now, the power wasn’t enough to do what Brine wanted. But the fact he wanted to use the Tree for such an end made Stiles’ plan easier to accomplish.

He loved it when everything fell into place.

Brine had settled somewhat from his outburst, and dismissed Beard Guy, who’d poked his head into the tent to check if everything was okay.

“What about your men? Who are they?” Stiles asked.

Brine gave a dismissive hand wave. “Others who have lost loved ones to the fae.”

Stiles’ eyebrows rose, not believing it was as simple as that. “The boy didn’t know who I am.”

Brine smirked. “He doesn’t. He lost his dad to something. I just said it was your kind.”

“What killed him?”

“No idea. Enough talking, the day’s at an end. Time to die.”

“No,” Stiles disagreed, and stood up.

That stopped Brine. “No? I don’t think you fully grasp the situation you’re in, Stiles. I have your dad and the depute. I will kill them if you fight this.”

“You’ll kill them anyway, so no.” This was the tricky part of Stiles’ plan, he had to push in just the right way.

“Then we’re at a stalemate. Unless I kill them, then you,” Brine said.

“You kill them, then I’ll fight you. And you’ll die.” Stiles had never been more certain of anything in his life. 

Brine thinned his lips. “Hmmm, alright. A bargain then. A binding pact?” His smile was nasty.

Stiles ignored the shock that Brine yet again knew something about the fae. He shouldn’t keep being surprised Brine had so much information.

“A binding pact,” he agreed.

“I agree neither I, nor the people who work for me, will grievously harm or kill the sheriff or depute of Beacon Hills, whom at this moment are being held hostage in our camp, if the fae, Stiles Stilinski, does not fight his death by my hands,” Brine intoned, eyes still glittering.

Stiles paused, weighing Brine’s words. “You’ll also let them go free,” he added.

Brine twisted up the corner of his mouth, “The sheriff and depute will be released as soon as you have fulfilled your part.”

Stiles wanted his dad out of the camp before anything went down, but he couldn’t see Brine allowing that, considering how paranoid he was.

He nodded. “I agree to not fight my death at the hands of Gavin Brine, if he complies with his agreement in regards to the sheriff and depute of Beacon Hills. He should note, however, that my death will not void the binding pact, failure to comply on his part will result in negative repercussions.”

Stiles waited for Brine to agree. He’d paused, and Stiles smirked, knowing Brine had thought killing him meant he didn’t have to worry about honoring his vow. But the magic would not let go so easily.

Brine scowled, but then his face cleared. “No matter. When I have the power of the Nemeton, your father will never find me.”

“Do you agree to the pact?” Stiles pushed, wanting to hurry things up. 

Just like Deaton, Brine didn’t ask for stipulations as to what the punishment would be if he broke the pact. He also didn’t ask anything more of Stiles than just not fighting him, when he could have very easily. Stiles wasn’t going to educate him on this fact. 

He held up his little finger. “It’s a thing,” he said, in explanation to Brine’s unimpressed look.

Brine sneered, but nodded his head. “I agree to the pact.” He hooked his finger in with Stiles’.

They both gasped as the binding magic rushed around them and settled. Stiles would never get used to it. 

He released Brine’s finger as soon as he could and stepped back, brushing his hands down his thighs to get rid of the tingling magic. He felt the new little spark in him, the connection to Brine that would tell him if he broke pact. Having it was a necessary evil, but one that made Stiles want to throw up.

This was the first pact where he didn’t feel he’d done something wrong to the bound person. He was slightly worried it meant he was treading a dangerous path; ends justifying the means, but put it down to the bound person being Brine.

Brine went over to the tent flap and stuck his head out, speaking to the man outside. He turned and smiled at Stiles. 

When his dad was hauled into the tent soon after and pushed towards him, Stiles had to rush forward to grab him before he tripped and fell. His dad’s wrists had been attached to leg irons. Brine was holding the end which he attached to a metal peg and rammed deep into the earth of the tent’s floor.

Stiles held his dad, and yelled at Brine, “You asshole!”

“Never vowed not to make your dad watch,” Brine chuckled, and rummaged in one of the backpacks which lay on the ground near the tent edges.

Stiles untied the gag from his dad. “You okay?” he asked him.

“Yeah. You?” his dad coughed out, and brought up his hands as high as he could to clutch at Stiles’ shirt. 

Stiles whispered into his dad’s ear, “Don’t worry, you’ll get out of this, I promise.”

“What about you?” His dad gave him a searching look, picking up on Stiles’ unease. “What did you do?”

Stiles looked at him, not sure how to say it.

“Your son has agreed to save you and your depute, Sheriff!” Brine stood up triumphantly, holding something in his hands that put a huge smile on his face.

“I will kill you if you lay a hand on him,” Stiles’ dad growled, turning to put Stiles behind him.

Stiles looked up at the tent roof, wishing Brine hadn’t been so sadistic as to bring his dad in here.

Brine looked over and kept grinning. “You can try, but you won’t,” he said, assured in his power.

Stiles’ dad tried to rush Brine, but couldn’t move more than a few feet from his metal stake. He pulled on it, and Brine tutted. 

“You should stop. Even if you get the stake up, you can’t run in those shackles, much less hurt me.”

“Watch me,” Stiles’ dad threatened.

Stiles placed a hand on his arm. “Stop, Dad. Please. Just stop.”

“Listen to your son, Sheriff. He knows what has to happen.”

Stiles’ dad turned to him. “Tell me you didn’t do something stupid like trade your life for mine.” 

Brine laughed, greatly amused. “Well, for your life and that of your depute’s. Don’t forget him.”

“Stiles!” his dad cried out. “Why?”

“You know why,” Stiles said, softly. He didn’t want to fight his dad on this.

Brine interrupted, “Now, Stiles, this has a nice round symmetry to it, wouldn’t you agree?” He held up two iron wrist bands. 

“You bastard!” Stiles’ dad cursed, and pulled at his chains with fury.

Stiles tried not to waver, telling himself it was a good thing Brine had chosen the slow death. If he’d gone for the bullet to the brain, the plan would have been out the window. Stiles had banked on him being sadistic enough to want some torture first.

Stiles could do this. He was more than his fear. He was more than the pain.

He moved away from his dad and waited, ignoring his continued pleas for him to stop. 

Smirking, Brine came to stand near Stiles. He removed the metal pins in the bracelets, placing them in a breast pocket. “Your right hand, please,” he said conversationally.

“You’re a sick bastard,” Stiles told him, as he held up his hand.

“Quite possibly, but I blame the fae for all of my mental issues.” Brine clicked the first bracelet around Stiles’ wrist. “Left hand please.”

Stiles’ dad had gone quiet, and the click of the second bracelet was almost deafening in its finality. 

“I'll be magnanimous, Stiles," Brine told him. "You can keep standing, but you know what's in store. Sit or lie down, your choice.”

Stiles sat, knowing he’d probably pass out soon enough but laying down passively indicated giving up. That would never happen. Not again.

“Stiles,” his dad knelt to be at his level, “don’t, please don’t.”

Stiles caught his eyes for a second, then looked back at the bands circling his wrists. They covered his scars perfectly. He took a breath, and closed his eyes.

“You going to scream for me, Stiles?” Brine asked pleasantly. “Or are you going to be brave for your dad?”

Stiles couldn’t help but open his eyes and glare white hot hatred at him.

Brine chuckled. “Stoic till the end! You should be proud of your boy, Sheriff, he’s always taken just that little bit more to get a scream from him.”

“I’m going to hunt you down,” Stiles’ dad promised, deathly serious. “The law won’t stop me from what I’ll do to you.”

“Promises, promises,” Brine said, eyes on Stiles as he reached into his pocket and drew out the first pin. “And I am going to hurt him, Sheriff, just like I did before. Only this time, I’m going to finish the job.”

Stiles dad lunged futilely, caught back by his chains, as Brine motioned Stiles to raise a hand. He caught Stiles’ wrist and turned the band until the pin hole was in the right position. He placed the needle to it, letting it rest against Stiles’ skin. Then he pushed it in.

Stiles arched his back, biting through his bottom lip so he wouldn’t scream, but unable to silence himself completely. The fire-lick agony was much like the first time, eating its way through his very bones. 

Brine held him in a vice-like grip, continuing to push the pin until it popped out the other side of the band. When he let go, Stiles’ wrist fell useless to his side. He swayed where he sat, his mouth filling with blood. 

His dad yelled, cursing and threatening, unintelligible noise under the blanket of pain Stiles was experiencing.

The second pin evened out the pain on both sides of his body and his head hit the floor as soon as Brine let him go. The blackness rushed up like rain following a wildfire and drowned him in silence.

 

***

 

Stiles heard his dad saying his name. He turned his face towards where his dad’s voice was coming from. 

“Da?” he exhaled, coughing blood onto the ground. He could feel it pulling where it had dried tacky on his chin while he was unconscious.

“Stiles! God, Stiles!” There was a clinking sound, and then, “Can you get over here, son? Stiles, are you listening?”

Stiles blinked and his eyes focused a bit better. He made out his dad trying to reach him but being hampered by the shackles. He looked so determined in the face of everything that Stiles had to smile though it pulled at his torn lip. “Strong man,” he muttered, proud of him.

His dad choked, hearing his words. “Not as strong as you, now use that strength and get over here to me.”

Stiles nodded slightly, hiding how he wanted to cry at the burning flowing through him. He managed to get up on his elbows and knees and inched his way over to his dad. He collapsed with his head in his dad’s lap. 

 

***

 

When Stiles woke again, jolting awake from a nightmare, he was thrashing around, moaning. He’d slipped off his dad who was trying to hold him and calm him down. Going through torture again was enough to bring up the memories from the first time it happened. His bitten lip had swelled while he was unconscious and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool.

Stiles could feel his dad’s arms holding him as best he could with the shackles. He was stroking his hand along Stiles’ forehead, the familiar touch soothing.

“Dad,” Stiles managed to get out, his tone indicating his thanks. He wanted to reach out to him but his hands were already feeling numb. He settled for looking blearily up at the tent ceiling. “How long?” he mumbled.

“You’ve been asleep for the whole night. It’s getting on into morning now,” his dad answered, rubbing his fingers along Stiles’ scalp.

“Pack?”

“I don’t think they know where we are,” his dad said, with obvious concern.

Someone came into the tent and stood over the top of them. It was the boy. 

“He needs water,” Stiles’ dad told him.

The boy didn’t answer. He was frowning and watching Stiles intently. 

Stiles closed his eyes as familiar pain rushed through his upper arms. He panted though it. The iron poisoning was progressing faster than the first time. Soon, he calculated, the pain would rest in his lungs.

The boy had been moving around as Stiles catalogued the pain’s progress. His dad tipped his head up a little. 

“Stiles, drink.”

A tiny trickle of water made it onto his lip and Stiles swiped his tongue across it. The moisture bloomed across the inside of his mouth, tainted with dried blood, and he took a sip as the next trickle came. He opened his eyes.

The boy was kneeling in front of him holding a water bottle.

“Thank you,” Stiles’ dad said.

The boy sat back on his heels. “You’re not like the thing that killed my pa,” he told Stiles.

“No,” Stiles agreed.

“Brine said you were?”

“He lies.”

The boy nodded, and looked towards the tent flap. “You’re a scary son-of-a-mother though.”

Stiles had to smile, or try to at least.

“But you chose this to save your dad and that other guy.” The boy pulled a face as he looked down at Stiles’ hands. “Why?”

“Because he’s not the monster, kid. Brine is,” Stiles’ dad answered. “And you’re helping him.”

The boy flinched. “He told me we were going after the thing who slashed my pa. Didn’t think it would be someone like him.” He jerked his head down at Stiles. 

“And now that you know?” Stiles’ dad pressed. “What are you going to do?”

The boy said nothing. 

Stiles knew what his dad was doing, he’d seen him do it with young offenders at the station; helping them to see where their actions were going to take them and supporting them to chose better options. His dad was the best guy he knew.

Stiles groaned as another wave of pain washed through him.

“That looks like it really hurts him,” the boy observed.

Stiles’ dad audibly swallowed. “Yes.”

“What’s with the bands?”

“They put a poison in him,” Stiles’ dad told him slowly, like the words hurt to say. “Brine’s done this before.”

“To him?”

“Yes. He almost died.”

“And he agreed to go through it again? Is he stupid or just crazy?” the boy said, with scorn.

Stiles’ dad choked a half laugh, filled with worry. “He has the biggest heart of anyone I know. It causes him to overlook his own safety when he believes he can save someone.”

“Like you.”

“Like me, yes.”

“So, your son’s the good guy, then?”

“One of the best.”

Stiles wanted to let them know he could hear them, even if he was fighting through another wave of pain that made him pant and his eyelids to flicker uncontrollably. 

“Fuck. That’s just wrong,” the boy muttered. “What’s with the vein-thing?”

“I think that’s the poison moving through his system,” Stiles’ dad said. His dad’s hand came to rest on the side of Stiles’ neck and the fire that had been rushing through there quietened a bit. “What’s your name, son?”

“Cue. Like the stick you use in pool,” the boy told him. “Dad was a champion player when he was my age. Went national and everything.” There was evident pride in his voice.

“Well, Cue, my name’s Noah. You’ve met my son, Stiles.”

“He wouldn’t really eat my face, would he?”

Stiles’ dad huffed out a laugh. “No! Not unless it was made from fruit. Used to be my boy loved fried foods more than anything, but fruit is his thing now.”

“Fruit? Not the flesh of his enemies?”

“Cue, what exactly has Brine been telling you?”

“Not the truth apparently, the dickwad! Oh, sorry.”

Stiles flicked his eyes open a little so he could watch Cue chat with his dad, becoming comfortable with him. Next would come the gentle pushing to choose the right path. And that was helping them.

His dad was genius. 

 

***

 

Stiles moaned as he was moved, the movement causing him to wake up from the extra pain. He couldn’t feel from his elbows down and kept his eyes shut. As long as he didn’t see what was happening to his body, the more likely he’d be able to hold out. It was important he make it at least until Derek or Scott arrived. 

He could hear his dad shushing him as he was pulled into a sitting position. It hurt, and he drew in a ragged breath. His head was held up and rested against his dad’s shoulder and he managed to open his eyes enough to focus on his father’s face.

“Dad?” he murmured.

His dad looked awful; his eyes were red and weepy looking, and his nose was a ruddy color. “I’m sorry,” his dad apologized. “I only moved you because of your breathing. Is this easier?”

It was in fact; his lungs felt less like they were drowning. He hummed an affirmative, then coughed and groaned simultaneously.

“Stiles, shh, just breathe, okay? I’ve got you.” When his dad moved his hand to push the damp hair off Stiles’ forehead, it became obvious his chains had been removed at some point.

Free to leave, he chose to stay with his son. 

Stiles didn’t want to be the factor that stopped his dad from gaining his freedom. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He was hit by another wave of pain and couldn’t help the moan and spasm that accompanied it.

His dad made a noise of distress, stopping and taking a shaky breath. It rocked Stiles’ body, and he cried out softly. 

“God, sorry, Stiles. Sorry. Just, just rest. It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

Stiles slipped down deep into the dark.

 

***

 

Stiles’ body was heating up from the inside, starting at his hip. He couldn’t help but twist, trying to get away from the sensation. He was lying on the ground, a good distance away from his dad who was being held down by Beard Guy, a gun at his temple.

Stiles frowned over at the scene, and then at Brine who stood over him. “Pact,” he wheezed out.

“Hmmmm, yes. Well it wasn’t like your father was going to sit still while I injected you with iron, Stiles, so he needed some persuasion. But don’t fret, he hasn’t been grievously harmed as per the wording of the pact.” Brine smiled, flourishing an empty needle. “Let’s see how long it takes for you to die now, shall we?”

Stiles’s dad cursed Brine from his position on the ground. “Why put the cuffs on him if you were going to inject him?!”

Brine’s eyes never left Stiles’ face when he answered, “For the pain, of course. And I thought it may be possible Stiles would live far longer than I thought. He did last time, after all. I have to admit, I’m pleased I was right.”

Stiles’ dad was so angry he was practically vibrating with it. “You bastard! You hurt him for the hell of it?”

Brine’s eyes flashed, and he turned to Stiles’ dad. “Yes! Because he is fae! It was fae who killed my wife! It was fae who made my daughter choke on her own blood until she suffocated! All for that damn tree! Who cares that it was chopped down? My wife and daughter didn’t deserve the fae’s revenge! They didn’t deserve to die in pain, scared and alone!”

“Neither does my son!!” screamed Stiles’ dad.

“Yes, yes he does! Because he is one of them! Filthy fae scum! Every one of them will die!” Brine turned and kicked Stiles savagely in the leg. “Stay with them,” he told someone out of Stiles’ sight, then left the tent. 

Beard Guy got off Stiles’ dad, who rushed over to Stiles and knelt down next to him. Beard Guy left the tent after Brine. 

Cue, who’d been standing behind Stiles dropped down next to him. “I didn’t know he’d do that,” he said. There was a tremor in his voice.

Stiles’ dad ran a gentle hand over Stiles’ cheek, his palm feeling cold and dry. Stiles wanted him to rest his hand over his entire face to calm the heat that made his head feel swollen three times its normal size.

“Stiles, how you doing?”

“Fine,” Stiles breathed out.

He was shivering, though he wasn’t cold, and taking large uneven breaths from the iron burning his nerves, but he wouldn’t scream.

His dad chocked out a noise, catching a sob on the end. “God, Stiles.”

Stiles flicked his eyes up to him. “Sorry, Dad … Didn’t want … you to … see.”

“Just hang on, son. The pack are coming, right?”

“Mmm.” 

Hopefully. 

Stiles’ head rolled sideways, his blurry sight coming to rest on the bowl sitting on its table. Brine hadn’t covered it back up. He had an idea. 

“Bowl …”

“What did he say?” Cue asked.

“Bowl … stop … pack … break …”

His dad looked towards where Stiles was focussing. “The bowl of dirt? I don’t understand. What’s that got to do with anything?”

Cue came to Stiles’ rescue, clicking his fingers. “I know! Brine’s always preening about these supposed magic items that let him do stuff. He said he created this whole camp site, if you can believe it, and we were safe here due to some stupid thing he had us burn on the fire or some shit like that. Uh, some thing like that.”

“Stiles, is the bowl stopping the pack from finding us?” Stiles’ dad asked him.

Stiles managed to gasp out, “Yes.”

Cue stood up and casting a frown at the tent flap, looked back at Stiles’ dad. “You going to do what we spoke about?” he asked.

Stiles’ dad nodded. “I promised, kid. You have my word. I’ll help.”

“Alright then. So, I break this bowl, and then that pack thing you’re talking about comes in here and stops all this crap, right?”

“Right.”

Cue smiled his nasty smile. “Well then, let’s do this.” 

He moved over to the bowl and tried to lift it, but it was large and the dirt made it heavy, so it didn’t budge. Stiles’ dad left him to go help.

The moment the bowl was tipped onto the floor, it cracked apart and the dirt spilled out, the power stopped flowing into the ground, and the released magic screamed inside Stiles’ head.

He cried out in reaction, his eyes watering uncontrollably.

There was a groaning from the earth and the trees which had been displaced and then everything settled. The wrong feeling which had been soaking into everything began to fade away, joining the energy lines and Stiles was grateful for that at least. He’d been afraid the ground would move back to its original position when the bowl was broken and had been hoping he was wrong.

He had been. Yay for him.

Stiles’ dad was back at his side. “Stiles, it's done. You’ve just got to hold on.”

Stiles couldn’t see, though he was pretty sure his eyes were open.

 

***

 

Stiles was floating. 

His dad was holding Stiles’ phone which had been in his back pocket. He slipped it into his own jacket and leant over, gently placing a kiss on Stiles’ forehead. “He’ll be here soon, Stiles. Just hold on.” 

He blinked back tears and stared straight ahead, through Stiles’ astral body where he floated in front of him. Stiles tried not to look too carefully at himself, but saw red-veined skin and a pale sweating face with a swollen mouth.

Stiles wanted to stay with his dad but he had to find Lydia and the others. It was his only chance for his plan to work and he was running out of time. He could feel the Nemeton pulling on him, wanting him to go.

He thought of Lydia.

For a while he stayed in the tent and then suddenly he was zipping right through the top of it, like he was sucked through a straw. He was moving past trees, over the ground, through the air, until he stopped. And there was Lydia.

She was in the preserve, close to where Brine’s camp was, holding her side and motioning Malia to run ahead of her. “Go! Go! The sheriff was specific; we don’t have time! Go! Catch them up!”

Malia hesitated for a second longer than took off running, faster than Lydia was capable. Lydia made a face and bent over slightly, her breath whooshing out of her. She pursed her lips and blew through them slowly.

“Lydia,” Stiles called. He didn’t have the option to do this gently, so he took her by the shoulder and shook her.

She spun around. “Stiles?!”

“Yeah, it’s me.” He kept a hold of her arm, not sure if she’d hear him if he let go. “You need to listen to me.”

“But, how are you ... I didn’t feel anything. You’re not?”

“No. Not yet. Soon, though.”

“Soon?! Stiles!”

“Calm down and listen, Lydia. You have to tell Derek something.”

“Tell him what?”

“Tell him no matter what he finds when he gets to me, he has to take my body to the Nemeton.”

“You mean take you to the Nemeton. Take you, Stiles. Not your body.”

“Lydia, tell him! No matter what.” Stiles could feel himself being pulled away from her. He gripped her tighter. “Don’t let him do anything else! He has to do it as fast as he can, Lydia! Tell him!”

“Stiles? Stiles!”

Stiles was pulled away from her, rushing backwards faster than he’d left, arriving back in the tent. 

His dad was yelling at him, at his body. “Don’t you do this, Stiles! Breath, damn it! Breathe!” He gripped Stiles' jaw and tilted his head back, breathing into his mouth as he lay there unresponsive.

It was too late to do any good, Stiles could feel it. “Derek, you’d better get here, come on,” he pleaded. 

There were loud werewolf roars from outside the tent, and gun shots and fighting noises that ended quickly. 

Derek ripped into the tent and skidded over to Stiles’ dad and his body. The look on his face was one Stiles would never have chosen to put there. As he took in Stiles’ body; the state of it, the stillness, he started to loose a light in his eyes. His fists went slack against his thighs and he fell to his knees.

“No! Derek! Don’t do this! Pick me up, take me to the Nemeton!” Stiles grabbed Derek’s shoulder, tried to shake him, but Derek didn’t react. “Derek! Come on, man! Don’t loose it on me now!” 

Stiles started to get scared. He was almost dead and if he was going to pull off his plan Derek needed to get moving. His body must be at the Nemeton.

Stiles’ dad was still breathing for him. His heart was pumping, echoing in his astral body, but Stiles could feel it start to miss beats.

Derek was listening intently, his head cocked to one side. He had his eyes closed, focussing just on Stiles; on the thump-thump of his heart. “Come on, Stiles, come on,” he muttered.

Malia ran into the tent. “Derek! Lydia tried calling you! Stiles …” She stopped and took a look at what was happening.

Stiles, in his astral form, was starting to fade out. He tried to hold on, desperately. But the weaker his body got, the stronger the pull towards the Nemeton was. 

The pull became a rushing sound like waves crashing against his skull. He put his hands over his ears, watching as Malia started to talk again, waving her hands around like he normally did. 

Derek looked at her, than at Stiles’ body.

Stiles’ dad had started heart compressions on him. There was a fearful agony on his face as he pressed down onto Stiles’ chest, over and over again. He breathed into Stiles’ mouth again, tears tracking over his face.

Stiles’ astral form was fully surrounded by the roaring of the waves; the Nemeton’s energy pulling at him. He couldn’t hold out against it, and he was sucked away out of the tent.

 

***


	23. The Resurrection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has to deal with dying. And coming back.

Stiles was embraced by the inner depths of natural magic. He was held securely in its waters and floated among its earth lines. He was energized by the air currents and breathed in the eternal flame that every living thing on Earth holds in its heart. He was at peace.

Until.

Something started tugging at him. Unravelling, weaving, re-making.

It broke the bliss that surrounded him and shoved him rudely towards his physical body. He fought it, trying to stay. But the push was too strong and he was tumbled in its wake.

He lost the peaceful embrace and cried out as it slipped away from him.

There were physical sensations: a thumping sound surrounding him; getting faster and faster. Hard touch on his body; he was lying on something that breathed with him.

Stiles groaned and cried.

He ached; there was pain everywhere. 

Why? Why was he here? Why had he been taken away? 

He opened his eyes to a night sky so beautifully lit with stars that it stilled the burning in his soul. He could see the star dance; the movement of the universe, and it calmed him. He watched the stars until they faded with the dawn; moving across the sky, framed by the trees surrounding the stump he rested on.

Stiles blinked, and rubbed his eyes. He could still recall the beauty he’d known while he was dead; the connection he had to the world. But it was fading fast. 

When he sat up all he could remember was he’d been a part of something bigger and more incredible than he had words to explain or emotions to express. 

By the time he stood he was pretty sure he’d died and come back. It seemed as if his plan had worked. 

He checked himself over. He was still wearing the same clothes he’d been in when dying and they were filthy. What Stiles was pleased about was he didn’t have any injuries or pain and the iron bracelets were gone from his wrists.

“Well, thank God for that,” he said out loud.

“Stiles?” A desperate sounding voice came from behind him.

Derek was standing at the edge of the Nemeton’s grove, holding onto a tree; looking like he was going to pass out or throw up.

“Hey, Der, it’s me. How long was I gone this time?”

Derek regained his composure and sprinted over to Stiles. He grabbed him and hugged him so tight that Stiles couldn’t speak. Derek then held his face and looked him over greedily, every part of him, like he couldn’t get enough of Stiles standing before him. Finally, he pulled Stiles in and kissed him. Drank him down and filled him up at the same time. 

Eventually the kisses softened and slowed and stopped. They stood there rubbing their noses against each other, comforting and real and together.

Stiles breathed Derek in, resting his face on a shoulder. He’d wrapped his arms around Derek’s waist and was thumbing circles into the small of his back through his shirt.

Derek spoke into his neck, “Stiles?” His voice was surprisingly hesitant, causing Stiles to lift his head to look at him.

“Yeah, my wolf?”

“You. I can’t. You were ...” Derek’s eyes were shining and he roughly brushed a hand over them. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“I won’t,” Stiles promised. “Not again. Although if it makes you feel any better, my plan worked.” He hadn't meant to sound so flippant and he winced after he spoke.

Derek frowned at him, opening his mouth.

Stiles rested his forehead against Derek’s, stopping him from voicing any displeasure. “How’s my dad? Parrish?”

“Parrish is fine. Your dad,” Derek shook his head slightly, his forehead rubbing against Stiles, "not so much, though he's being strong."

Stiles tipped his head back, worried. “How long was I gone?” 

“A day and night.” There was a tone of recrimination in Derek's words, like Stiles had a choice in the matter.

“Oh.” He'd been hoping it would be a simultaneous thing; die, come back. 

“You were dead, Stiles,” Derek said, flatly. “You’re going to kill him if you keep doing stuff like this.” It was obvious he wasn't just talking about Stiles' dad.

Stiles looked away, knowing whatever he said right then would make things worse, not better. 

When Derek ran a hand through Stiles' hair, cupping the back of his head, Stiles turned back and leant in slowly. When it was apparent Derek wouldn't stop him, he kissed him softly on the mouth, then over his face. Derek sighed and held him tighter, shaking slightly. Stiles ran his hands over Derek's back and arms, hoping to instil some calm; not liking how Derek was hurting because of him.

He wanted to keep going, keep touching, keep kissing, show Derek how much he loved him. They desperately needed some time alone to hold each other for longer than a few kisses.

But that time wasn’t now.

Stiles gave him one last slow kiss, then tapped his fingers on Derek’s chest. “Call Dad, tell him I’m okay.”

“I can do one better,” Derek said. He called out, “Scott! Get the sheriff over here!”

There was silence, then running footsteps and Scott came through the trees with Stiles’ dad hot on his heels. Derek let Stiles go so he could take a step towards the both of them as they stopped and stared at him.

“My plan worked?” he said, holding out his hands in a helpless gesture, unsure how he was going to be received.

“Stiles!” yelled Scott, and thudded into him so hard he almost fell over. Stiles laughed and hugged Scott back as he started babbling so fast Stiles couldn’t make out anything other than how happy he was. Scott then let go and moved back to give Stiles’ dad his turn.

Stiles stopped grinning and swallowed, biting his lip as he stood there, suddenly incredibly nervous.

His dad was breathing heavily and his eyes were bright as he touched Stiles’ shoulder before wrapping his arms around him in a firm hug. “Son,” his dad said. A world of meaning in one word.

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles said, gently. When they pulled apart to look at each other, still holding each other’s arms, he continued, “I’m sorry. I never wanted it to go that far.”

“But you knew it would, didn’t you. You made a deal.” His dad was obviously very upset with him.

“I couldn’t think of anything else. I’m sorry.”

“I know you are." His dad exhaled loudly. "Jesus, kiddo. You’re going to send me to an early grave pulling stunts like that. Never again, okay?”

Stiles side-eyed Derek, who raised his eyebrows at him. “Sure, Dad.”

Malia and Lydia tackled him then, pulling him out of his dad’s hold, yelling in delight and crushing him in a three-person-sandwich hug, with him as the filling.

Lydia kissed him on the cheek, and Malia hit him hard in the shoulder. “Do that again and I’ll kill you first,” she promised.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Stiles told her, “but okay.”

“Never again,” Lydia reiterated. “Even if I was pretty sure what your plan was. Never. Again.”

“You worked it out?” Stiles beamed at her. “That’s my Wonder Woman!”

Lydia sniffed. “Well, I thought I knew what was going to happen. But it’s a mystical tree. So anything’s possible, right?” 

Stiles hugged her hard.

“Now that we’ve gotten him to promise not to do something so stupid again, can we get out of here?” Stiles’ dad asked. He was looking with distaste over at the Nemeton.

Derek had drifted to Stiles’ side. His fingers kept brushing over Stiles’ wrist and elbow like he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out. Stiles gave him a gentle smile before grabbing his hand, wrapping their fingers together. As soon as he did it, Derek stilled and breathed easier.

“Wait,” Stiles said, when his dad went to walk out of the grove, “what happened to Brine?”

“We don’t know,” Scott told him. “We didn’t find him at the camp.”

“He got away again?” Stiles had been hoping Brine had become a werewolf chew-toy. “Fill me in on everything before we go home, it’s important.” He looked around at the grove’s edges while he spoke, slightly unnerved.

“Lydia got your message to Derek and he brought you here. You’re lucky I trust all this mumbo jumbo nonsense you can do, Stiles, or I’d still be holding on to you back at the camp site,” his dad told him.

Stiles’ heart leapt at hearing his dad trusted him.

Derek picked up the tale, “I got you here as fast as I could. I didn’t know if I would be able to find the tree but I had no problem. It was almost as if I was being led here.”

“You were,” Stiles agreed. “The Nemeton had my soul and wanted my body as well.” He didn’t know how else to phrase that but he probably should have thought of something if the looks everyone gave each was any indication. “It’s a fae thing,” he said, trying to smooth things over. 

There was more to it than just ‘a fae thing’, but he wouldn’t go into that just now, or ever, if he had the choice.

Derek frowned at him, obviously picking up on his hesitancy to elaborate. But he didn't call him on it. “I put you down on the tree and your body glowed and disappeared. Then I was standing out there.” He nodded to back behind the trees. 

“When we got here we couldn’t come any closer.” Scott waved his hand around at the grove. “It wouldn’t let us in.”

“She was just protecting her cub,” Malia said, reasonably. 

Stiles hid a grin because he was certain Malia had gotten it one hundred percent right. Honestly, he was just happy ] the Nemeton had brought him back. It hadn’t been done for his benefit but he was still grateful. 

“So you all just spent a day and night out here?” he asked.

"I went into town with Parrish to the hospital," his dad answered. "The official story has Brine on the FBI’s wanted list. I came back here as soon as I could.”

Stiles put his hand on his dad’s shoulder. He could only imagine how hard it had been for him, acting like his son wasn’t dead. Trying not to give up hope that he’d come back from being taken by a magical tree. His dad was so amazing.

“Okay, lets go home,” his dad said.

“Actually, there’s something I need to do first,” Stiles apologized.

“What?” Scott asked, curious.

“I just need to, as part of …” Stiles sighed. He’d have to bring his dad into his secret now, too. “Part of being the Nemeton’s protector is to make sure the illusions I cast to keep it hidden are still working.”

“You’re what now?” asked his dad.

“Doesn’t the Nemeton do that itself?” Lydia queried, always one step ahead.

Stiles sighed again, and told his dad, “I’m the Nemeton’s protector, there’s a whole lot of stuff involved with it, please don’t tell anyone; it’s supposed to be a huge secret, which I’m incredibly bad at keeping.” He looked to Lydia. “The Tree can protect itself, but I add to it.” He looked around the grove again, feeling like something was off. “So give me a few seconds, and then we can go.” 

Stiles walked towards the Nemeton, Derek walking with him as they were still holding hands. He let go when they got to the stump and Stiles climbed up onto it and sat down. He didn’t actually need to be touching the Tree to do this but he was feeling strange after waking up from being dead, and the closer he was to the Nemeton the better he felt. 

He tilted his head and held out his hand to Derek, wanting to be close to him, too. “Come on.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, but climbed onto the stump with Stiles and held his hands. 

Stiles opened up his senses and used his magic to check the illusions he’d cast around the grove and surrounding area. Some had fallen, which wasn’t surprising, while most were still operating under their own steam. He fixed them up, casting further afield than he had before, making sure Brine wasn’t going to get anywhere near the Nemeton.

He came back to himself and smiled at Derek, who was staring at him with a look of surprised awe on his face. 

“Stiles, I think I felt that.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “You did?”

“Like when you fixed the spheres.”

Stiles considered it. “I don’t know how, but I guess it could be because of who you are to me.”

Derek didn’t say anything to that, but his smile warmed Stiles considerably.

Before he decided fucking Derek on the Nemeton was a thing he wanted to happen right then, he dropped Derek’s hands and climbed off the stump, giving it a fond pat before walking back over to his dad and the others. There was a strong part of him that wanted to stay with the Tree and not just because of the visuals in his head of going down on Derek on it. He squashed the weird feeling he had inside. 

Everyone walked out of the grove and back towards where Stiles presumed their cars were parked. 

“Did you honestly sleep in the forest overnight, Lyds?” Stiles asked, as he walked beside her.

She looked affronted. “Me? What do you think?”

“I think you went home after explaining your theory of my eminent resurrection and arrived this morning to check up on things.” Stiles looked her over. “As you’re looking your normal incredible self, I’m betting on it.”

Lydia smiled, and there was relief in her voice when she answered, “I’m just glad I was right.” Her eyes roved over Stiles’ dad and Derek.

“My plan working didn’t fall on you, Lyds. None of this was on you. If it hadn’t worked it wouldn’t have been your fault.”

“No, it would have been yours. What if the Nemeton hadn’t brought you back?”

Stiles looked away. “It did though.”

“But you didn’t know it would. Not for certain, did you?”

Stiles was very aware that everyone was listening to their conversation. He rubbed the back of his neck and didn't answer.

Eventually they reached the carpark. There was a moment where no one seemed to want to separate. It was broken by Lydia rolling her eyes, giving Stiles one last hug and getting into her car. She gave Malia a pointed stare. Malia grinned, squeezed Stiles tightly for a second, then jumped in the passenger seat before Lydia decided to drive off without her.

When they’d gone, Scott held out his fist for Stiles to tap. “So good that you’re back, bro,” he told him. He spun the back wheel of his bike, just for Stiles’ benefit he was sure, before tearing off down the road.

Derek took hold of Stiles’ hand again and pulled him along towards his dad. “Shall we go, Noah?”

Stiles’ dad shook himself out of wherever his mind had been, and sighed. “Yeah. Good thing I’m taking the day off.” He glanced up at the brightening day. “Am I dropping you both off or are you coming home, son?” he asked Stiles.

Stiles had no idea. He wanted to be near his dad, but he needed Derek close by. Also, the fact his dad wasn’t assuming he’d be going home with him was interesting. Almost as if his dad saw him as an adult and not a child. It made Stiles feel warm inside but oddly kind of sad, too.

Derek solved Stiles’ dilemma by asking, “If it’s all right with you, Noah, I’d like to stay at yours.”

His dad glanced down at Stiles’ hand wrapped in Derek’s and gave a twisted smile. “Sure,” he sighed again. He looked like he was going to say something else but rubbed a hand over his tired-looking eyes instead. “Let’s go home.”

 

***

 

Derek was lying in Stiles’ bed after they’d both had showers and changed clothes. Stiles had thrown his filthy ones straight in the garbage, unable to look at them without thinking of what it was like to die.

Stiles was pacing around his room, while Derek watched. 

Normally, Derek in his bed would be cause for Stiles to pause and celebrate. And he had. Briefly. But his brain wouldn’t allow him to just bask in the picture Derek made while wearing a pair of Stiles’ largest sweats and nothing else. 

“Stiles.”

Stiles was alive. That was something to be happy about. His plan had worked. He’d saved Parrish and his dad, and then Derek had saved him. So good plan, really. Risky, yes. But it worked. So good plan. 

But. He’d died. 

Brine had killed him. He’d been an actual corpus mortuus. 

That weird feeling inside him still hadn’t gone away. It wasn’t the worry he’d had about his dad, it was shrinking now his dad wasn’t being held captive. And it wasn't his worry about Brine having escaped, although that was definitely something to take into consideration.

Apparently the other three men had been knocked out, no fatalities but more than one broken bone, and been picked up by the police at the hospital when they went to have their injuries cared for. Stiles knew there was at least one more wondering free, the person who’d phoned from the picnic area and tipped off Brine that Stiles may be in the camp. How many more were there lying in the ranks, waiting for their chance to take down a fae?

“Stiles …”

Would Brine and co. be coming after him again? Had he only managed to postpone things until another show-down? Stiles believed the answer to those questions was an unfortunate resounding yes.

“Stiles!”

Stiles looked over at Derek briefly. “Hmm?” He didn’t stop pacing.

“Come to bed, love.” The endearment made Stiles pause, and Derek smiled at having gotten his attention. He patted the bed. “Stiles,” he coaxed.

The sweat pants Derek wore left nothing to the imagination. They were Stiles’ biggest pair, but Derek was all muscle in his thighs and his ass and … everywhere else … and as the material pulled tightly, everything was on display. 

Stiles’ legs bumped the bed and he blinked, finding he’d walked towards Derek while fixated on his groin. Derek’s smile was bigger, but still gentle, as he caught Stiles’ eyes. “Come on, get in here.”

Stiles climbed onto his bed, grateful his own pants were loose as he needed the extra room. Derek curled around him, slotting their bodies together, his face quickly morphing from light teasing to darkening arousal. He rocked them slowly, Stiles content with the small motions as they stared at each other.

Derek’s eyes roamed over Stiles’ face like he was memorizing every curve and mole. His fingers traced over Stiles’ eyebrows in long strokes, smoothing and following the cheek bone down to rest under his jaw. Stiles tipped his head up at Derek’s insistence, baring his neck; giving Derek free access to mark him. He watched from under his eyelashes.

Derek kissed under his ear and moved down to suck on his neck, laving the main tendon with his tongue and giving hard bruising nips that had Stiles’ hips jerk with each one before relaxing back to their slow grind.

Derek’s hands were gripping Stiles' arms and his body was a heavy weight, flattening Stiles down into the bed. With Derek pinning him, he was unable to do anything other than tip his head even more and thrust up in counterpart to Derek’s slow deep rocking. Stiles felt like he was melting. It would have been perfect if not for his heart slowly breaking. 

Because he was looking for it, Stiles could see the battle waring inside Derek. His thrusts were slow but demanding, his tongue was gentle but his teeth sharp. He was holding Stiles tightly and breathing deeply, running his nose up and down his neck.

Stiles kept moving; edging his hips up, bumping against him, trying to help, knowing the way Derek was feeling was his fault. “I’m sorry, Derek,” he whispered.

Derek lifted his head and looked at him with haunted eyes, Stiles’ heart lurching with sympathetic guilt. “Don’t you ever leave me,” Derek said, forcefully.

Stiles lifted his head until their faces almost touched. He looked into Derek’s eyes, and said, “Never again.” He bumped their noses together lightly. “I love you,” he whispered against Derek's lips.

“Stiles,” Derek said, sounding undone. His eyes were shining and he closed them. 

Stiles leant up a little more, ignoring the discomfort in his neck, and licked the side of Derek’s left eyelid. He tasted the salt there and placed a soft kiss on the delicate skin.

When Derek looked at him again, Stiles said fiercely, “I love you, Derek Hale. And I’m here.”

Derek caught a sob in the back of his throat and dropped his head a little. Stiles kissed his forehead, brushing his hair back with his palm.

“I’m here, Der. I’m with you. You’ve got me. I love you.”

Stiles rubbed his hand along the back of Derek’s head in a comforting solid motion, cradling him. His other hand stroked up and down Derek’s back. Derek was shaking. 

Stiles then did something he wasn’t sure was a good idea. He collected his magic and softly, gently, sent it towards Derek, sending love-comfort-understanding and also regret-apology. He didn’t need to wait long to see if Derek felt it.

Derek tensed in his arms and sobbed loudly, once, before sighing out, “Stiles.”

Stiles kept sending love-love-love to him until Derek’s muscles relaxed under his touch. He breathed in, his heart feeling lighter, as Derek’s teeth caught his bottom lip and nibbled, pulled, and sucked gently.

Every touch made Stiles’ dick remember what it had been getting into before and it perked right back up again. Derek’s was right there with it; two hard lines against each other. 

Derek’s fingers travelled down Stiles’ chest to pull at his nipples. He followed with his mouth and sent sparks over Stiles’ skin when his tongue rasped over the nub of one while he played with the other. Stiles moaned Derek’s name over and over again. As he got progressively louder; his nipples were definite points of sensitivity now, Derek moved back up to his face and Stiles’ next groan was caught in his mouth. 

He didn’t need his dad hearing them, even if he’d probably had a very good idea what they would be doing when Derek asked to stay over. It was kind of mind-blowing; that his dad had said okay, but really, Stiles needed to stop thinking about his dad right now.

Derek and Stiles rocked together slowly, their tongues sliding and curling until Stiles had to pull away to swallow his spit and breathe. 

Derek pulled his sweatpants off and got Stiles to lift his hips, pulling his pants off too. Then he lowered himself down on Stiles, making sure to kiss him at just the right moment when Stiles cried out at the sensation of Derek’s hard dick slicking its way along his.

Stiles scratched down Derek’s back, and he arched up, moaning loudly. His dick jumped, so Stiles raked his nails down again. 

Derek pinched Stiles’ sides, causing shivers to travel everywhere over his body. His tongue caught Stiles’ nipples again, sucking them into stiff peaks to the point of pain, until Stiles caught his head and moved him away. He then reciprocated, leaving fast-healing bite marks across both of Derek's pecs. He sucked on the skin while his fingers deftly rubbed and pinched each nipple, pulling them harder when Derek groaned out, “More.”

They rolled, coming to rest up against the wall; Stiles’ left leg stuck between it and Derek’s thigh as he sat atop him. Stiles took them both in his hands and jacked them off, smearing precum over their lengths and tracing it onto Derek’s balls with his fingers until they were both shaking. 

Stiles loved Derek’s dick; the heft of it in his palm, the way it stood up for him and dripped as he pressed his thumb to the slit. Derek’s dick was a masterpiece in Stiles’ opinion. Fat and perfect for filling him up. 

Derek’s balls were larger than Stiles’ and he wondered if endowment was a werewolf thing; more sperm for knocking up their mates and getting them pregnant with cubs. Stiles tipped his head back and moaned almost silently at the thought of Derek doing that to him. There was a surprising kink he hadn’t known he had. 

Derek cursed quietly and rolled them back over so Stiles was underneath him. He pulled one of Stiles’ legs up over his shoulder and rubbed his dick against Stiles’ hole.

Stiles was all but ready to forgo the condom, almost ready to forget lube altogether. He was stuck on the idea of Derek mating him, breeding him, and it was pushing him further to the edge with its strangeness; an almost illicit thrill for something so far off normal that he’d never thought of it before.

Derek continued to rut against him, getting his hand around Stiles’ dick and stroking up and down the length of it in time to his own dick catching on Stiles’ rim. Stiles could feel Derek’s precum dripping all over him and swore some got inside him. The thought made him twitch violently in Derek’s grasp. He suddenly wanted that more than anything.

Stiles wasn’t able to keep quiet at all so Derek pushed his mouth flush with his. Not so much a kiss as an aggressive press of mouths, with Stiles trying to swallow him whole. They were both breathing heavily through their noses and probably making too much noise even while trying to stay quiet.

Stiles stopped kissing to look up at Derek as he came, only just managing to refrain from crying out. 

Derek looked down at him; sweaty and red, and so beautiful. He was quiet as he rubbed his dick once more over Stiles’ hole and then he was coming, pulsing heat over Stiles’ ass and groin. Stiles groaned at the feel of it and at how wrecked Derek looked.

“Stiles,” Derek whispered. “Stiles.” He kissed him, swiping his tongue over the sweat on Stiles’ top lip, and helped him lower his leg from off his shoulder. 

Derek lay on top of Stiles, gently sharing small kisses. Stiles found he liked the squelchy feeling of Derek’s dick laying soft near his own in their mixed come. Another new thing for him. He thought it possibly had a lot to do with Derek laying on top of him, enclosing him in with his arms and legs and his warm weight settling Stiles into his bed. 

Eventually Derek kissed Stiles on the nose and moved off him to reach for something on the floor. 

Stiles was curious, and snorted in disbelief when Derek held up a wet hand cloth. “You a boy scout, too?” he kidded, as Derek wiped them both down.

“Always prepared,” Derek quipped.

Stiles laughed loudly, and put a hand over his mouth. Derek pinched his side, making him gasp and wriggle away. Derek leaned down and kissed the abused flesh. 

Stiles sighed, and stretched into it. “Never gonna get tired of your mouth,” he admitted.

Derek looked up. “What about the rest of me?”

Stiles pretended to consider for a minute. Long enough for Derek to nip at his stomach and then swipe the area with his tongue. He did this a few more times until Stiles forgot to answer and was holding Derek’s head in place over his lower stomach.

Derek looked up again. “So?”

Stiles blinked. “What was the question?”

It was Derek’s turn to bark out a laugh and then look sorry, causing Stiles to start laughing, too.

Derek kissed him while they both laughed until they were mostly quiet again, although Stiles still snorted when Derek looked at him waiting for his answer. He’d been going to make a smart-ass comment, but gazing at Derek he found he couldn’t.

Not just then. 

He ran his hand through Derek’s hair and pressed his palm against the side of Derek’s face. He smiled when Derek turned into the contact. 

“Never gonna get tired of any part of you,” Stiles said, seriously. “Love you too much for that to ever happen, Der.”

Derek’s answering smile was blinding and perfect, and his kiss was soft and made Stiles’ insides heat up. When Derek pulled back, Stiles was panting and getting hard again against Derek’s thigh which was awesome and also surprising, but Stiles wasn’t complaining if his dick had started to get on board with low-refractory times. 

Derek smiled, his eyes holding the sparkle that Stiles loved, before he moved down Stiles’ body and his hot mouth started to work over his dick. 

Stiles bit his hand to stop from crying out. There were worse ways to spend a day, he supposed.

 

***

 

When Stiles woke from the nap he’d eventually fallen into, Derek was spooning him from behind; his dick nestled soft and warm against his ass. The feeling of it had Stiles smiling to himself and wishing Derek was hard so he could move back and impale himself.

The whole room smelt like the two of them, the strong odor of sex hanging heavy in the air. It was lovely to Stiles, making him want to curl up and bask in it, but not one he wanted his dad or anyone else having to deal with. He reluctantly moved Derek’s arm from around his waist and scooted out from under the blankets Derek had pulled over them both.

As Stiles pulled the shade open on the window near his bed and opened the glass to let in fresh air, he thought back to what had happened between them. 

In bed with Derek would have to be one of Stiles’ favourite places to be. Even after they both couldn’t come again, before they’d fallen asleep they’d been content to slowly map each other’s skin with fingers and teeth and tongue. 

Stiles hadn’t known his glamour had dropped, he been so wrapped up in Derek, until Derek had framed his face in both of his large hands and stared into his eyes and said, seriously, “God, you’re beautiful. Your normal eyes and your fae eyes. Makes me feel so many things, Stiles, having you look at me the way you do.” 

He’d kissed both of Stiles’ eyelids, and moved down to nibble across Stiles’ jaw, while Stiles’ heart had skipped beats as he processed what Derek had said. 

Derek had looked up and smirked, knowing he’d just shocked and pleased Stiles at the same time. He’d then proceeded to lick and suck down Stiles’ neck. Stiles had hummed and arched his neck, giving Derek full access, completely trusting. 

Derek placed his hand across Stiles’ throat and framed his mouth with his fingers as he sucked on Stiles’ adams apple. Stiles’ breath had caught and his entire body relaxed even further into the bed. Stiles swore even his toes had melted into the feeling of being at Derek’s mercy, knowing Derek would never hurt him. 

His eyes unfocused and he’d just lay there, softly compliant as Derek sucked a hickey onto each side of his neck, tilting Stiles’ head with his hand to give him more room when he moved from one side to the other. 

Stiles was undone. Derek’s love for him made it possible for him to do anything. He was completely bullet proof. 

They’d fallen asleep soon after Derek finished marking him, with Stiles feeling like he owned the world. 

Stiles stood at the foot of the bed and gently touched the sore spots on his neck. He had no idea how he was going to hide the bruises; there was one that still tingled right under his left ear, near his jaw. He swore Derek had a thing for his moles.

The free feeling he’d had earlier was gone. 

Scientifically speaking, it had been sex and love endorphins and a whole lot of relief at being alive that had made him so giddy and relaxed. He was never so off-base normally and even though he’d enjoyed it immensely, he preferred his more normal feelings of anxiety and stress. 

Did that make him stupid or just inured to his mental and emotional issues?

He watched Derek as he slept, surprised he hadn’t woken up yet; Stiles was not a naturally quiet mover unless he thought about it. 

He eyed the lines of Derek’s shoulder and back. His face was smushed into Stiles’ pillow and he looked so peaceful that Stiles had to smile with a little bit of pride that he’d had a hand in that. Of course, he’d also been the one to put Derek through loosing him and having to hold onto a slim hope that he was going to come back. 

Stiles frowned. He was a selfish bastard but as he looked at Derek he realized he’d been more than just selfish. It was possible he’d made an utterly stupid move in planning to die, betting on the chance he wouldn’t stay that way. 

He would have lost everything if it hadn’t worked. 

Surely there had been another option. Some other way to save everyone. Why hadn’t he been able to see it? He was the plan guy. The one who always worked things out. Why had his planning become shoddy, misplaced and so very wrong? Especially when it came to Brine in particular?

Derek opened his eyes like he’d only been resting, and frowned down the bed at him. Stiles couldn’t move fast enough to hide the tear that spilled over and ran down his cheek.

Derek sat up and kneeled on the bed in front of him. He didn’t say anything, just placed his hand over Stiles’ where it hung limp by his side. The weight of it, the comfort in the gesture, made Stiles take a shuddering gasp of air. 

Derek pulled him back onto the bed and under the sheets, Stiles going complacently and quietly. He wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck and with truthful emotion said, “I am so sorry I did what I did.”

Derek frowned. “Which part, the agreeing to let that madman kill you or not waiting for me so I could help you plan something that wouldn’t require your death?” His eyes held all the hurt and devastation Stiles had put there. 

A raw noise forced its way out of Stiles. Derek had always been more of an action guy but when he spoke his words could pierce Stiles like no one else’s had ever been able to. Tears slipped down Stiles’ face and annoyingly into his ears. “All of it,” he replied. 

Derek thumbed the tears away as they kept falling.

Stiles didn’t like to open up about his feelings but this new thing he’d felt when he came back, what he felt now; he had to get it out. It hurt too much to hold it in. 

“Why did I do it, Der? I know it was to save Dad and Parrish, but why was that plan the one I picked?” 

Stiles took short breaths to try to stop the tears, but it wasn’t working. He squeezed his eyes shut. The weird feeling was sitting on his chest, feeling heavier than Derek and not at all as welcome. 

“He killed me, Derek. That bastard took my life. And I let him.” 

Derek was so intent when Stiles opened his eyes, that he couldn’t help but look away. 

“Do you really want to know what I think is going on?” Derek asked him, seriously. 

Stiles nodded.

Derek moved off him and before Stiles could miss being held, he’d pulled Stiles close with an arm across his waist and a leg over his thigh. They were both still naked and the press of Derek’s skin against his kept Stiles from the panic attack he could feel stirring inside him.

“You’re very good at not listening, Stiles.”

“I listen! I just don’t always act like I do,” Stiles defended himself.

“Then you’re very good at ignoring things you don’t want to hear. So I’m asking you in all seriousness; do you really want me to talk with you about what you did?”

Stiles opened his mouth and then closed it. He frowned. Finally he said, “I always want to hear what you have to say, Derek. Even if I don’t like it.”

Derek nodded and rested his chin on Stiles’ shoulder for a second. “While we were waiting for you to come back I had time to think about everything. There were a lot of warning signs I didn’t pick up on, which I’m sorry for.”

Warning signs?

Stiles didn’t know if he actually did want to hear this. “You did nothing wrong.” 

“I thought you were getting better.”

“I am getting better, Derek!” 

“But we missed something. We all did. I spoke to Lydia, asked her some questions about living through trauma which included near-death experiences.” Derek stopped, and looked at him. “I think there is a part of you that came out of your abduction believing you should have died. A part of you that’s been unconsciously working towards it.”

“You think I’ve been suicidal?” Stiles wanted to be annoyed at Derek’s conclusion. He should have been shocked or at least angry. But he wasn’t. Because Derek had hit upon something that rang true. 

“No. It’s like survival guilt, but yours doesn’t stem from the death of others.”

Stiles bit his lip. “So part of me thinks I should die.”

“Should have died, that’s different to wanting to. It’s a way of processing grief. Which you have a lot of, understandably.”

Stiles asked hesitantly, “Did you want to die, after you lost your family?” 

Derek smiled, sadly. “Yes. For the longest time. Up until I turned full-wolf in Mexico.”

Stiles frowned at him. “That long? But you always fought so hard to live.” 

“It’s an ongoing process. It lessoned as time went on. It wasn’t so bad when I left. It helped that I had friends, had reasons to work through the guilt. You were a big help.”

“I was? How? I had no idea it was so bad for you.”

“You were pushy. Right from the start. You wouldn’t let me get away with anything. I had to change.”

“I did that?” 

No way was Stiles responsible. He’d just been trying to push Derek’s buttons; get a reaction, bridge a gap. Make a friend.

“You did.” Derek paused, then asked, “Why did you choose that plan?”

Stiles thought for a second. “I couldn’t think of anything else. Brine worked out I was in the camp and he was going to shoot my dad and I had no time for anything else but to give myself up.”

“When you made the deal, what was going through your head?”

“I felt sorry my dad was there for it.”

“What else?”

Stiles’ heart started pumping faster. “I was angry at Brine.”

Derek’s hand came up to rest over Stiles' chest, above his heart. “And? Really think. You know you can tell me anything.”

“I felt,” Stiles bit his lip, and placed his own hand atop Derek’s. “I think I felt,” he swallowed. “I felt relieved.” He breathed out and all off the emotion he’d been bottling up whooshed out of him. “Derek, I was okay with it. I thought there was a chance the Nemeton would bring me back, and I wanted that. But I wouldn’t have minded if it didn’t.” 

He glanced at Derek, but there was no condemnation or anger at his confession.

“I felt the same thing many times. Remember when Peter got me outside the school?”

“God, yes.” The memory still made Stiles want to throw up.

“I felt the same way. Part of me was relieved. I hadn’t taunted death but when it could have taken me, I didn’t mind.”

“But not now? You don’t feel that way now?”

“No. It gets easier, Stiles. You just have to let people help.”

“I really am broken, aren’t I?” He didn’t want to admit it out loud. 

“Not as much as you were. Not anymore.”

“No?”

“Ask yourself, do you want to die?”

“No!” Stiles was sure about that. Dying sucked. Never again.

“What would you do now, if faced with the same decision. What would you choose to do?”

“I’m never giving him that power over me again,” Stiles said, adamently. “I’ll kill him first.”

He lay there in Derek’s arms for a while longer. They didn’t say anything else, but when Stiles got up he did it without the horrible weird feeling inside he’d had since coming back from being dead.

He took a shower and when he returned to his room, he stood in front of Derek who was sitting on his bed being a lazy wolf, and took Derek’s face in his hands. 

“I love you, Der. I may not be the most stable of people to be with, and I know I don’t make it easy.” Derek snorted, and Stiles mock-glared at him. “But I do love you.”

Derek tilted his head up for a kiss and ran his hands up and down Stiles’ hips. He was smiling when Stiles rubbed their noses together. 

“You’re going to be fine, Stiles,” he told him.

Stiles didn’t doubt Derek believed it, so he just nodded.

 

***

 

Stiles needed to talk to his dad who was probably just waiting to get him alone. It was testament to the different way he was treating Stiles that he’d allowed Derek to stay over, in Stiles’ room, instead of carting Stiles off home alone and having it out first thing. His dad was showing a great deal of restraint and maturity. So Stiles had to do the same. Two things he hated being.

To help with his task, Derek had given him some space to work things out. Despite Stiles saying he could stay, he’d changed into his wolf and lopped off through the back yard after kissing him goodbye. 

Stiles had seriously wanted to run after him, but instead had gone back inside the house. 

See? Maturity. And restraint. He could do this.

When Stiles had his shower earlier, he’d found his dad had gone out at some point during the day. He was ignoring how his dad had left the house most likely so he didn’t have to listen to them, but considering how loud they’d been, he was pretty sure that had been the case. 

He was blushing at the thought of his dad hearing him having sex, as he stirred pasta in a pot over the stove. The talk with his dad needed to be balanced with carbs, so there was fehttuchini cooking, home-made garlic bread keeping warm in the oven, and a meat sauce rich with tomatoes and herbs gently simmering away. He’d even gone out and bought a wine from the local bottle store, knowing his dad liked a bit of red. He’d added some to the sauce, too. He was going all out.

He tried the sauce and clasped his hands above his head, shaking them in celebration. He was surprised he’d gotten it to taste so good. His dad would hopefully be impressed enough to forgive him for dying. Maybe he should cook for Derek. He was bound to stuff up and need to be forgiven again at some point. 

Stiles was pondering where his mom’s cook books had hidden themselves and whether he could make her meat and dumplings without too much disaster, when his dad came in the front door. Stiles could hear him taking off his jacket and hanging it on the hook before walking down the hallway to the kitchen.

His dad stopped in the doorway and raised his eyebrows at seeing Stiles near the stove. “You didn’t burn the house down,” was his first comment.

“I thought having dinner was the better option,” Stiles replied. “Get the bowls out after you wash your hands.”

His dad rinsed his hands in the kitchen sink with no soap and wiped them on his pants, grinning at Stiles when he took two bowls out of the kitchen cabinet. Stiles gave him a flat stare, but said nothing. He was just glad his dad was smiling. He was expecting that to change soon.

He drained the pasta and set everything on the table, while his dad sat back and watched him with a look that meant he was very aware of what Stiles was doing. 

When Stiles sat and started to fork the pasta into his bowl, his dad tipped the wine bottle to read the label. He then leant back in his chair, picked up some garlic bread and said, conversationally, “Derek not joining us?”

Stiles sent his dad a look that meant he was aware of what his dad was doing as well.

His dad smirked and grabbed some pasta, while Stiles reached for the sauce. They finished plating up and ate in silence for a while, just enjoying each other’s company. 

His dad was pouring his second half-glass of wine when he asked, “Stiles, are you going to get around to saying what you want to say?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “You’re being very serene about all of this.”

“Which part? You agreeing to be tortured and killed, or not waiting for me and the pack to help you out?”

Stiles sat back. “Sometimes you and Derek are disturbingly similar. That’s not a compliment. It’s actually creepy.”

“Derek has a good head on his shoulders. You need a stabilizing influence you actually listen to. I’m going to say it’s a good thing.”

Stiles rubbed a hand under his chin. “So when I ask Derek to marry me you’ll be okay with that?”

His dad choked on his mouthful of food, and Stiles laughed. His dad took a sip of wine and pointed a finger a him.

Stiles shrugged, unrepentant. Then he sighed and squared his shoulders. “Dad, I’m really sorry you saw me die. That I couldn’t find a better way to save you. There’s something broken in me. I don’t mean to put you through so much crap.”

His dad had a frown on his face, and sighed when Stiles finished talking and wrapped his arms around himself. 

“Stiles, I’ve gone through wanting to yell at you for what you did. I’m not there anymore. Having you back is enough. I don’t want to fight with you.”

“I don’t want to fight with you, either.”

“So I accept your apology, acknowledge there is something going on with you, and hope you never ever choose to let anyone hurt you ever again in order to save someone else. No matter who it is, kiddo, I want you to put yourself first.”

Stiles pulled a hand through his hair, tugging on the stands. “Derek said I believe I should have died the first time,” he admitted.

Instead of being shocked or outraged like Stiles was expecting, his dad just nodded thoughtfully and asked, “Do you agree?”

Stiles spoke slowly, feeling out his words. “He’s not entirely wrong. There may be a part of me that’s still back there. When Brine put the bracelets on me it felt inevitable. Like I’d been waiting for it. I don’t know how much that’s been influencing me. It wasn’t something I was actually aware of.”

“I can see it in you, now that you mention it,” his dad said, making Stiles look up at him, curious. “When something goes wrong on a shift, not that it does too often, thank God, but when it does, when lives are lost, sometimes the cop who was there can shoulder the blame unfairly. It can be the same when they live through a death-defying situation.”

“It wasn’t obvious I had that?”

“It probably was, and I could have caught it if I hadn’t been so wrapped up in the supernatural part of it.”

“It’s a bit hard not to be,” Stiles agreed.

“I’m just saying, I dropped the ball there. Especially with not getting you further help. I just don’t know what you need. Is there a supernatural therapist? Does such a thing exist?”

“My old one knew some stuff. But I don’t think I want to go down that road. At least, not right now. Dad, you should know I don’t blame you for anything.”

“No, you blame yourself, and that’s worse.”

Stiles picked up his fork and twirled it in the fehttuchini. “I did. I blamed myself. But since I died, I don’t anymore. I do blame someone, but it isn’t me.” He looked up at his dad. “I blame Gavin Brine.”

His dad looked pleased to hear it. “Good. That’s healthy.”

“Maybe not so much,” Stiles opted to tell him.

“Why’s that?”

“Well, if I was a normal person, hating and blaming him would be okay.”

“But you’re worried because you have magic you’ll go too far with him?”

Stiles paused before nodding. “It’s possible.”

“Your pack don’t go too far.”

“It’s very different for them,” Stiles confided.

“How so? You’re all some kind of supernatural being.”

“Hmmm. But I. I have a darkness in me,” Stiles said, quietly, surprised he was admitting it to his dad.

His dad was silent for a time, looking down at his bowl. He had a slight frown on his face that had Stiles wishing he hadn’t said what he had. When his dad looked up, Stiles clenched his fingers on the edge of the table. 

“Stiles, I know you don’t mean the normal human struggle of right and wrong. I also know you feel the possession marked you and I can’t speak to the truth of that. But I do know you’re a good person. I know you choose to do the right thing every day. You’ve just got to believe in yourself more. Believe you can be the good person I know you actually are.”

Stiles unclenched his fingers and frowned in surprise. That wasn’t what he’d thought his dad would say. He made it sound simple, yet it was anything but.

“Could you kill someone, kill Brine, if it came down to it?” his dad asked.

Stiles looked at his dad. Did he believe he could? Yes. Did he want to? Some part of him did, yes. Did he want his dad to know just how dark and broken he really was? 

Stiles sighed. “No. I suppose not,” he lied.

 

***

 

After dinner Stiles texted Scott and asked him to go back to the camp site to find the broken bowl. He wouldn’t be allowed to go back himself, Derek and his dad would put him on lock-down if he tried. 

Scott had promised to go check it out, saying he’d take Liam with him. He’d apparently been miffed that he and Mason had missed out on the pack’s latest adventure. According to Scott, Liam needed some ‘hero action’.

Stiles had snorted at that, but hadn’t said anything, remembering how he’d wanted a similar thing at times. The adrenalin of facing down the bad guy had been addicting. He was older and wiser now.

Stiles was sitting on the single couch in the living room trying not to be too obvious about his boredom, as both his dad and Derek cheered the TV while the football was on. He wanted to groan; he hadn’t known Derek was such a fan. Now he had two people in his life who liked to talk about offense and defense plays. He could leave the room but instead he texted Scott for the umpteenth time, asking how things were going, not caring if he was being annoying in his persistence.

Scott replied by sending a photo and asking if he’d got the bowl. 

Stiles looked at the photo and shook his head. He texted, with only slight sarcasm, that it wasn’t made of plastic and hadn’t been a take-away food container at any time in its existence. He wondered at Scott’s brain sometimes.

Scott texted back an emoji sticking its tongue out and winking. Stiles blinked. Scott was being a deliberate smart-ass, and he’d fallen for it too easily. He narrowed his eyes, deliberating on asking Scott to look for things that weren’t there. 

Preempting a texting war between the two of them, Liam sent a photo showing the pieces of the bowl in Brine’s tent. Stiles wasn’t about to let go that easily though and texted Liam that he was his favourite, knowing Liam wouldn’t be able to stop himself from bragging to Scott.

Sure enough, Scott quickly sent a sad emoji face that had Stiles laughing. He texted Scott to suck it up, counting himself the winner. 

He looked up after sending it, and found both Derek and his dad giving him fond looks. Again, Stiles was struck by the similarities between the two of them. He’d been right; it was highly disturbing. If Derek went into law enforcement Stiles may have to burn his uniform. 

He imagined Derek wearing the Beacon Hills County Police uniform. It did things to him which had him slouching on the couch, trying to cover up his reaction. Until he realized the porn-like thoughts he was indulging in included what was essentially his dad’s work clothes. 

“Oh. My. God!” he shouted, flailing, sending his phone skidding across the carpet. All arousal was gone. He swore his testicals had actually retreated in defense. He scrubbed at his head. “Mental floss! Mental floss! Get it out!” 

There was silence from the other couch. He looked up sheepishly to find his dad rolling his eyes at him, and Derek with his eyebrows raised in question but a slight twitching of his mouth that suggested he had an idea what was going on. With his super-sniffer wolf nose, he probably did.

“Nothing to see here,” Stiles mumbled, and crossed over the floor to retrieve his phone. He then left the room and palmed his face, leaning against the wall. 

“He hasn’t really changed all that much, has he?” his dad commented.

There was laughter in Derek’s voice as he answered, “Not in the ways that truly matter.”

 

***


	24. The Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Healing the Tree was never going to be easy.

Stiles was at Derek’s a few days later. He was sitting on the ground out the back of the house in a warm patch of sunlight. 

Derek had gone for a run, and Stiles had wanted to join him, but he hadn’t been focussing on his protector duties like he should. If he had been, perhaps he could have had the Tree back to full health and he wouldn’t have to worry Brine would get his hands on the tainted magic. 

To that end, Stiles had taken off his shirts to energize by the sunlight while he tried to work out the purpose of the different pieces of Nemeton wood he had in front of himself.

“Could have made this easier, Deaton, and just given me a list,” he grumbled.

He had several different groupings occurring on the ground. One included the two spheres and the coin. Next came several pieces from Deaton that were containers of different shapes and sizes. They were for protecting or binding things, much like the triskelion box with the Nogitsune fly in it. 

There were the two pieces of the broken bowl in the next grouping and a polished carved wand-shaped stick. 

The stick had been found in the camp by Liam as well, who’d picked it up thinking the wood looked the same as the bowl and may be of some interest to Stiles. He’d been right. The stick had been used to create the Brine-double that had tricked the police. It was also what Stiles’ own search spell had picked up on, sending Derek and Scott to the cell.

Stiles had told Liam he was definitely his favourite for finding it. Liam had basked in pride while Scott pouted. Stiles had just smirked at him and said, “You snooze, you loose, man. And Liam did good. Didn’t you, boy?” He’d rubbed the top of Liam’s hair and been swatted and growled at. Scott had hidden a smile when Stiles winked at him.

The second last grouping were two large rings that reminded Stiles of a magician’s magic trick where they link and then come apart. He’d spent several minutes rubbing the rings together to satisfy that idea. Nothing had happened. 

The last group was three flat plates of descending size that Stiles contemplated using as frisbees when he’d gotten mad.

He had no idea why he couldn’t tell what these particular pieces did as he was bound to the Nemeton even more than he’d been before he died. The place in his mind that forever connected him to its magic and energy lines was a hundred times stronger than it had ever been. He didn’t need to go searching to feel disturbances, or to even keep the illusions going. He need only touch on the connection and he could feel where the illusions needed shoring up or changing. 

Over the days since he’d come back, the connection had settled and strengthened into an unshakable bond. It was like Stiles was living and breathing the Nemeton’s life as well as his own at the same time. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, not even Derek, because he was aware it made him more prone to giving up his ‘human’ life and no one needed that extra worry aside from him.

But being so connected, he should be able to take one look at the wood pieces and know what they’d been created to do. Yet for some reason the rings and plates eluded him. 

He rubbed his hands on his jeans and held them over the largest plate. “Come on,” he said, closing his eyes and searching again. “Damn it.” 

There just wasn’t anything to find. There was nothing there at all; no remnant druid magic. Like they had never been imbued with purpose after being shaped. 

Stiles paused. “You tricky bastard,” he said, grudgingly admiring of Deaton. “Always with the frigging tests.” He picked the plate up and tapped his fingers on it. 

He couldn’t feel the purpose of the objects because they had none. A druid, more than likely Deaton, had carved them but hadn’t gone the distance and put anything more inside them. No druid magic, no intent. So when Stiles went looking for it all there was to find was Nemeton energy from being part of the Tree. And it was faint because there was nothing to keep it attached to the wood. The magic of the Tree wanted to let go and flow back to the energy lines in the earth. 

The druid magic of purpose kept the Nemeton’s own magic from fading away after the wood was cut. Given enough time an un-purposed piece of the Nemeton should turn into ordinary wood. Not any more magical than any other stick or branch or piece of firewood or furniture or building material used the world over.

It was very similar to what Stiles had read about witch practices. Tools had to be charged and filled with purpose before the magic in the wood itself was usable. 

Stiles shook his head. “I’ve been schooled.”

Deaton was sly and clever and Stiles had to give him kudos for it. Instead of telling Stiles about the importance druid magic had in keeping Nemeton wood viable, he’d made him work for the knowledge. Stiles needed the wood to retain its magic in order to give it back to the Nemeton. And for that he needed druid influence.

“Ah, irony. Thy name is,” he sighed. Stiles could imagine Deaton having internal spasms of delight about him seeing some good in druid magic when used with Nemeton energy.

He laughed a little at himself and stretched his arms up into the air, popping his shoulder blades before rotating his arms and shaking them out. He lay back on the ground with his knees bent, legs apart, and just listened to the forest that surrounded Derek’s home. He really loved it here. He’d spent the previous day walking through the area, touching trees and getting to know them.

Every forest had its own feel, its own memories, its own personality. All three places; the aspen forest, the preserve, and Derek’s forest, had Stiles enthralled and entranced. He loved how the aspens which grew together were actually all the same plant, connected by their roots. Some of the largest growing organisms in the world. Touching one, listening to it, Stiles could follow it to all the others. The redwoods were ancient history keepers and Stiles could, and had, spent days and nights following their streams of dreaming through time. The preserve’s pines were strong and steadfast. Secure in the world, holding the earth close and helping to keep the energy lines viable. And the lone trees; those without groupings, stood out as individuals and called to Stiles because of their resilience in growing and thriving among strangers. 

But today, Stiles wasn’t focused primarily on the trees. He went into the earth, looking for the footpad fall of Derek. He found him bounding along a deer track, coming home. Stiles smiled and flowed along with him, keeping tabs better than he ever had before, until Derek stopped not far from the house. 

Stiles could tell from where Derek was standing that there was a perfect line-of-sight for Derek to watch him. He stayed still, his eyes closed. When Derek’s paws started creeping softly towards him, Stiles had to work at not smiling or giving off pheromones that let Derek know Stiles was on to him. Derek got to pouncing distance before Stiles gave out and laughed; he’d thought for sure Derek would sense his heartbeat rabbiting along.

When Derek pounced on him anyway and lay between Stiles’ legs with his forepaws on his chest and a goofy wolf smile on his face, tongue sticking out, Stiles figured Derek had known. And hadn’t stopped his tracking because it was too much fun.

Stiles rubbed his hands up into Derek’s fur, over and around his ears, causing Derek to lean into his hands and make a rumbling noise of contentment deep in his chest. The sound vibrated through Stiles and made certain parts of him start to pay attention. He wasn’t embarrassed. It had happened quite a bit when he’d been living wild with Derek in the preserve. 

Nothing had actually happened between them then, partly because Derek had been aware Stiles hadn’t been fully himself. But that wasn’t a problem anymore. Now it was the whole Derek-as-a-wolf thing which Stiles had no idea how to handle, nor did he know how Derek wanted to handle it. Was there something to handle? Apart from the obvious?

Derek was watching him closely, gaging his reactions, as he kept up his rumbling.

Stiles shifted a bit but did nothing else apart from continuing to run his fingers through Derek’s fur, and acknowledge, with hesitation, the slow building arousal he felt.

Derek’s fur felt a bit too nice against his chest, and Stiles started to worry things were going to go in a direction he wasn’t sure he wanted them to. But he kept his hands on Derek and surprised himself by rocking his hips once with intention. 

How far did Derek want to go with this?

He could feel Derek, hardening along his inner thigh. Stiles let slip an involuntary groan; his body so tuned into Derek’s arousal that even now with the slightest hint of it, he wanted to ride that train.

When he grabbed the fur around Derek’s ears instead of skin or hair; he had a moment of shock and he got goosebumps. His body was all on board, but his mind had major freak-out issues.

As soon as Derek picked up on his unease, there was a subtle energy transition and it was Derek in his human form on top of Stiles, no longer wolf. 

Stiles felt a sense of relief coupled with disappointment that gave him pause. 

Derek ran his finger under Stiles’ left eye and he blinked. His glamour had dropped at some time. Possibly when he’d been following Derek’s progress through the forest. Stiles put his glamour back on and Derek leaned down to kiss him. 

Because Derek was gloriously naked and Stiles was never one to pass up such a blatant target, he scratched his fingernails hard down Derek’s back towards his ass, causing Derek to pull out of their kiss to hiss through his teeth. He gave Stiles a slightly curious look. Stiles lay underneath him, one eyebrow raised in smugness and a slight smile tugging at the side of his mouth. A challenge.

Stiles had lube and a condom in his jeans pocket and he may have been thinking about doing something similar to this when he got up this morning, but Derek didn’t know that unless he took note of the smell of those items that were burning a preverbal hole in Stiles’ jeans with how urgently he wanted to use them.

Stiles wanted Derek to fuck him in the forest. 

He’d been imagining it yesterday while he’d been walking; picturing Derek taking him against a rock, his ass bent up over it. Or against a tree, riding Derek’s dick while Derek sucked his nipples into puffy peaks. Or Stiles sinking his way into Derek in a surprise attack while swimming in the river, the water soothing his passage as Derek’s hole gave way to his thrusts. 

He had many ideas and they all got him incredibly aroused and ready. But he wasn’t going to ask. If Derek wanted him even half as much as Stiles did, Derek was going to have to catch him. 

Without giving Derek any warning, Stiles sunlight-leapt out from underneath him causing him to fall and curse a little as he looked around.

Stiles was standing where Derek as wolf had stopped to look at him. Stiles waved and laughed. He waited for Derek to stand up, curious if he’d use his beta form or his wolf to chase him. Derek was confident in his body and the way he held the power of the wolf around himself. His stance screamed predator and his eyes were glowing as he stared Stiles down. 

Stiles marveled he’d managed to grab Derek’s attention whenever it had first occurred, much less hold it. Screw his superpowers of fae magic, his real power was that. He had Derek Hale. Derek Hale wanted to fuck him. Him. Stiles. Derek wanted to stay with him. Derek loved him.

Stiles had a huge grin on his face as Derek shook his face into its beta form. He laughed again as Derek started towards him. He didn’t drop his glamour, but waited until Derek was almost upon him before sunlight-leaping a safe distance away and then sprinting into the forest, Derek coming after him.

Stiles didn’t use his full fae speed, it was way too fast for what he had in mind, and he didn’t sunlight-leap again. He was only fast enough to lead Derek on a mad chase which led around trees and over boulders, until Stiles was almost out of breath from laughing and Derek was chuffing through his fangs, grinning as Stiles dodged behind a wide tree, first one way then the other, as Derek feinted right then left. 

Derek caught Stiles around the waist as he went to run again and sent them both tumbling, rolling down a short incline before they stopped under some pine trees. 

There were no words, only Derek growling and Stiles panting and gasping as Derek pulled out the lube and condom from Stiles’ back pocket. Derek almost shredded Stiles’ jeans getting them off him while Stiles tried to help, wary of being nicked by fast moving claws.

Derek then turned Stiles onto his knees in one swift move and shocked the hell out of him by shoving his tongue into Stiles’ unprepared hole. Stiles meeped and moved forward, almost falling onto his face, but Derek held him tightly by the hips and he could only gasp as he was speared by hot wet muscle. Derek’s fangs rasped against the sensitive skin, his fury face tickling Stiles’ ass cheeks. 

Stiles’ eyes rolled back in his head as he went from horny to almost blowing his load in seconds. He grabbed at his dick and squeezed it hard, staving off a way-too-quick orgasm. His head fell forward and he tilted his ass upwards. He was presenting himself to Derek, knowing he must look all sorts of wanton and debauched. He arched up further, groaning.

Derek made a growling nose at his actions, the vibration from it rippling through the muscles around Stiles’ hole. His shoulders collapsed around him and he sucked in harsh breaths as he turned his face sideways into the ground. 

Derek’s tongue flicked around in him, twisting, and he growled again. His lips moving in a parody of kissing, mouthing at Stiles as he forced his tongue deeper.

Stiles choked on his own saliva, unable to hold back his groans. Soon Derek's tongue wasn’t enough, and he was calling out, “Fucking God, Derek, fuck me, fuck me, please, fuck me!”

Derek reached for the lube. The noise of it being forcefully squeezed out of the tiny tube proved to Stiles he wasn’t the only one trying to hold it together. 

Thankfully clawless fingers traced over his hole and pushed inside him, two at once, causing Stiles to roll his forehead against the ground and take deep slow breaths so he didn’t pass out before he got Derek’s dick in him.

“Please, Der,” he moaned, as Derek’s fingers curled and opened, making him arch back into them.

Derek was still non-verbal and Stiles looked back at him, making sure everything was alright. He swallowed at seeing Derek focussing on pressing a third finger inside him. He was frowning intently, mouth open, lips shining. He licked his lips and his eyes glowed bright, his tongue making another pass. Stiles groaned, realizing Derek was tasting him on his lips.

Derek snarled and added more lube, the cold touch of it hitting Stiles’ skin directly as Derek squirted it on him. He almost ruthlessly shoved a forth finger into Stiles who felt like he’d been hollowed out as it pressed inside. He widened the stance of his knees, feeling the burn, and watched Derek’s face as his hole sucked the fingers in. Derek’s eyes flashed. A few seconds more and Derek closed his eyes. Stiles could tell he was trying to keep control. He appreciated it; claws in his ass was not something he wanted to happen either. 

“Now, Derek, come on,” he murmured.

Derek looked up and caught his eyes. He pulled his fingers out, making Stiles shudder at feeling so open and suddenly empty.

He rested his head back on his arms as Derek cursed. Stiles assumed he was putting on the condom as he heard the packet being being torn open. There were more noises and Stiles looked down between his legs to catch the motion of Derek’s hand sliding up and over his dick, slicking himself up.

Stiles was going to pass out before Derek got in him. This position made panting and moaning go straight to his head. He knelt up on his hands as Derek moved over him. When Derek parted his ass he pushed back, helping Derek press into him in one long slide.

Both Derek and Stiles moaned. The noise that came out of Stiles was possibly one of the filthiest he’d ever uttered. Derek grabbed his hips and then it was all thrusting and growling and Stiles holding on for dear life as Derek pounded into him.

They’d never had such fast and furious sex before and Stiles was helpless under the onslaught of sensation. He’d never gone at himself with such rigor either and lost sense of time for a while as Derek pulled him backwards and forwards and Stiles found himself opening up further and further until it felt like Derek was pushing up against the inside of his chest with every thrust. Stiles couldn’t even get a hand down to stroke himself as he would have fallen, but it didn’t matter because his hands had lost the ability to flex. All they could do was support his wobbly arms.

He’d dropped his head at some point and closed his eyes. They flew open when one of Derek’s hands moved off his hip and grasped his dick where it swayed and bobbed underneath him, dripping; an angry red color. Derek had his claws out and Stiles shook as Derek’s fingers grasped him, claws held safely away but still so close as to make Stiles keen at the sight.

When Derek started to pull on his dick, the head disappearing under slick fingers and long lethal claws, Stiles couldn’t watch any more, instead mumbling, “Holy fucking God, Derek!” and spilling over Derek’s hand, onto the ground.

Stiles was pretty sure he did pass out then, because he didn’t remember laying down but he found himself with his head on the ground and Derek still behind him when he blinked his eyes open. Derek had slowed down, going deep and then pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in.

Stiles moved his arms to pillow his head and sighed through the next roll of Derek’s hips. His prostate was his best friend and every touch made him twitch with over-sensitization, and his dick to dribble and try to come again even while he was still coming down from orgasm. 

Derek’s slow thrusting was making noises that made Stiles’ ear burn, and he swore if he hadn’t already just come his brains out, that alone would have made him do it. An obscene squelching and slapping of Derek’s balls against his ass echoed through the forest.

Derek was finally speaking. “Mine, Stiles, mine! Got to mark you deep. So good, so good. Love you, Stiles. Love you.” He groaned and lay his head on Stiles’ back while he jerked a few times in quick succession. Stiles felt Derek’s dick pulsing and clenched his internal muscles, causing Derek to curse and thrust into him again before stilling.

Stiles sighed in contentment. As Derek softened inside him, Stiles found he didn’t want his dick to leave and tightened up again, wanting to prolong its stay in his ass. Derek hissed out against his back and tightened his hands around Stiles’ hips in response. Stiles smirked, while his eyes slid shut, and he did it again. Derek nipped at his spine and Stiles’ breath shuddered out of him. When Derek finally, and in Stiles’ opinion unfortunately, pulled out, Stiles managed to cup a hand around his dick to protect it before he fell in an ungainly heap on the forest floor. Derek didn’t do much better. He sat backwards and had to try a few times to get the condom off and tie it up. 

“I can’t move my legs,” Stiles noted. “No seriously,” he added to Derek’s tired-sounding amusement, “you fucked the working parts right out of them. You’ll have to carry me home.”

Derek sorted again. “You’ll have to wait until I can walk again, myself.”

Stiles looked over at him, a small smile of pride on his face. “Really? It was that good for you?”

Derek stared at him, exasperated. “Jesus, Stiles!” He flopped backwards onto the ground.

Stiles managed to crawl a bit, shuffling over to him. “No way! I made you loose the ability to walk? The sex was that good? Tell me, man!” He slapped weakly at Derek’s thigh. “Don’t leave me hanging, tell me I was that good!”

“You were that good, you idiot,” Derek told him, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

“Hell yeah, I was!” Stiles preened. “King of forest fucking!”

Derek laughed out loud, his whole body shaking, muscles moving in an enthralling dance under his skin. If Stiles didn’t feel as if his bones were liquid, he’d be all over that. Instead, he pumped a fist into the sky and then flopped down beside Derek. “We can totally just snooze here, right? There’s nobody around who’s going to come across us unexpectedly?” He was too tired to check for himself.

“Not unless you mind the deer or an errant squirrel getting an eyeful,” Derek replied. “But I’m pretty sure we frightened them away.”

Stiles turned his head to look at him. “That was amazingly awesome, just saying.”

“It was,” Derek agreed. “Good idea on your part.”

“It was. One of my best.”

“Are you always so self-congratulatory after sex?” Derek inquired mildly.

“Dude, the fact that I get to have sex at all needs congratulations, let alone with you.”

“Stiles, I know you don’t have good self-esteem, but that’s going a bit far. You were with Malia, weren’t you? What makes you think you shouldn’t be having sex, that no one would want to have sex with you?”

Stiles groaned. He hadn’t meant for the conversation to go there. “Urghh, can we talk about this later when I’m not still basking?”

Derek frowned at him. “I will make you see just how wrong you are about yourself.”

Stiles closed his eyes. “Sure, sure. Basking here.” He patted Derek’s arm.

Derek leaned over and kissed him. When he pulled back, Stiles opened his eyes. Derek was looking down at him. “You are the most infuriating, beautiful, annoying, unique, amazing person, Stiles. I’m lucky you looked my way.”

Stiles blinked.

“Do you need to feel my emotions right now, so you believe me?” Derek asked him.

Stiles shook his head.

“Then try to see yourself through my eyes,” Derek told him. “You’re strong, brave, funny, smart, your body turns me on like no one’s business.”

Stiles started to blush.

“Your face is tremendously cute, and your laugh makes me want to kiss you and never stop.”

Derek illustrated his point by kissing Stiles. He kept talking when he pulled back, “You have saved my life more than once, in more than one way. You think you’re nothing special but to me you’re the most special person I know.”

Stiles snorted. “So what you’re saying is that I’m a special snowflake.”

Derek glared. “Stop degrading how I feel about you. I chose you. I choose to be with you, I love you. You are what I want, who I want. Accept it, because it’s not going to change.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t thought of it from Derek’s point of view. “I didn’t mean to say what you felt was wrong, Der.”

“Then you need to stop putting yourself down. You say I’m this great person, so my choice must be pretty spot-on then. Which means you’re worth so much more than you want to admit. Because I see what you’re worth, Stiles, and it is everything to me.”

Stiles’ hand was shaking when he pressed it up against Derek’s cheek. He finally nodded. “Okay, Der. Okay.” He didn’t know if he could ever see himself the way that Derek did, but he’d try to stop putting himself down, at least where Derek could hear him.

Derek smiled and rubbed their noses together. He pulled Stiles to his feet and they found Stiles jeans, which had claw marks shredded down both legs, and Derek found the decimated tube of lube and the condom. 

Stiles wrinkled his nose as Derek palmed it. “It’s all good and everything that you’re not leaving it here, but that it so gross.”

Derek snorted once more. “You’re a surprising prude at times.”

“I’m just thinking about the ick factor.”

“How about you think about the fact that I used it to fuck you and how it felt when I was inside you.”

Stiles was quiet for long enough that Derek smiled smugly. 

“You make a good point,” Stiles finally agreed.

 

***

 

Stiles was at the grove with the wood pieces trying to figure out how to bring them back into alignment with the Nemeton.

He put the cardboard box which held the pieces, down near his feet and tugged open the hidden cellar door to the Nemeton’s roots. He’d thought about destroying the entrance for good but something made him hold off and just conceal the door with illusions. They were some of his strongest. People could be right near the door and see only ground, no different to the rest of the preserve. He’d been surprised when he’d found the cellar, remembering it collapsing, but everything was intact. He put it down to the perversion of the Nemeton and the grove. One of the reasons he didn’t try to get rid of it again.

He brought the box down into the cellar with him and was thankful for his fae sight in the darkness. 

The cellar held none of the horror of the time with the Darach. Not any more. Now, it was thrumming with untapped potential and familiarity that came from Stiles being soul and spirit connected to the Tree. This was a special place, for all its dark past of ritual death-sacrifices. Its history went back to when the roots were given sacrifices of harvest; grains and meads and bounty, freely given blood and consensual sex rites. There had been no killing, no taking of life in the beginning. Not until the druids had changed that. They may have the reputation of being old forest-dwelling hippies, but the Beacon Hills druids were dipped in blood and death. 

Stiles tapped on the sides of the cardboard box with his fingers as he looked at the Nemeton’s roots. Deaton may have a point that the wood pieces had come to rely on the druid magic placed on them, but it wouldn’t have been necessary if they’d just left the Tree alone.

He shook his head. He could get stuck in circular thinking if he wasn’t careful. He wasn’t here to ponder what-ifs about the past. He was here for the present and hopefully a better future.

Going along with his idea which was mainly gut instinct, Stiles placed the box on the ground and started to pull out the Nemeton pieces. He placed them in amongst the roots of the Tree and then slowly connected with them one by one. Each piece opened up magically, like a flower blooming under his touch. His fingers stroked and rolled around the pieces as he coaxed the pure Nemeton magic past the magic of the druids, helped it connect and then to flow into the Nemeton. He picked apart the druid magical intent and let it dissolve away, flicking his fingers to rid himself of it. When he’d joined and cleaned all the pieces, he stood back and watched. 

The Nemeton roots were swirling with glowing lines of energy as they woke up and reached out to the magic of the wood pieces. Stiles watched his own private magic show until it started to dim and fade, the lines growing weaker as one by one they winked out. 

When Stiles checked the places he’d stashed them, the wood pieces were gone, replaced with new healthy root wood. It was as if the wood pieces had never been separated from the Tree at all.

“Yes!” Stiles called out. “I’m a badass fae!” He did a little dance, thrusting his hips to an unheard song. But then he stopped his celebration and the smile dropped from his face. 

Something wasn’t quite right. 

He placed his hands on the roots and delved deeper into the Nemeton’s awareness. After a while he scowled and dropped his hands, stepping back and narrowing his eyes. His earlier excitement was gone. He may have brought back the Nemeton pieces and added their magic back to the Tree, but the influence was so small as to be likened to a drop of water in a large lake. Important, but on its own: not enough.

Stiles groaned, and ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends. “Well this sucks.”

His big plan for restoring the Nemeton’s health had been to find every piece of the Tree that had been lost and bring them back. But even if he grabbed, stole, collected, hunted for, and found every piece that still remained, it wouldn’t be enough. Some of the wood didn’t even exist anymore. The druids had used a fair bit in magical fires, burning it to ash, the energy and the magic long since lost and consumed elsewhere.

Plus there was no way Stiles wanted to bind every piece, even though a part of him wished it were possible. The triskelion box for one, would never be brought here to merge with the Nemeton. And Stiles had no idea how many other things like the Nogitsune fly were trapped in Nemeton wood. They couldn’t be brought back either. He’d kept the spheres, too, because they were able to find the other pieces that still existed. And there was nothing to say how many still had enough viable magic to be of any use.

Stiles rubbed at his eyes. 

He’d have to find another way to heal the Tree. Something huge. Something that would bridge the nasty tainted magic that swirled through the energy lines and called evil things to Beacon Hills.

Something that would power change which Stiles could manipulate to bring back balance.

He eyed the dark brown stain on the centre-most root and spared a thought for the sadness and pain of the past, for what Derek and Paige had gone through. 

But there was also a glint to his eye as he started to grin a wide thin-lipped grin. He had the beginnings of an idea.

 

***


	25. The Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes full speed ahead.

Stiles waited until the next morning to start on his plan for healing the Tree. He felt empowered and bold, finally having a clear idea on what to do. He tried not to seem too eager as he sat down at the kitchen table and waited for his dad to wake up.

When his dad made his way into the kitchen as the sun was coming up, he stopped short at seeing Stiles already sitting there. Stiles just smiled disarmingly at him. 

“Morning,” his dad said, eyeing him as he moved over to the coffee machine and turned it on.

“Hey, Dad. Sleep well?”

His dad grunted, never too awake this early without a hit of caffeine. 

Stiles was betting on that to help him. He tapped out a rhythm on the table while he waited for the coffee to brew. He needed to get his dad at the perfect moment; the one just as the coffee woke him up but not too much. He needed his dad coherent but not on top of his game.

“So, daddio, what happened to the boy at the camp site?” Stiles asked, as his dad poured the coffee.

His dad frowned as he took the careful first few sips. “Why do you want to know?”

Stiles leaned back in his chair and tried not to fidget too much under his dad’s suspicious look. “Well, he never actually did anything that bad, did he? The other men were arrested, right?” 

His dad nodded and folded his arms, still holding his coffee. 

“Was the boy arrested, too? Doesn’t seem all that fair if he was. What was his name again?”

“Cue Robertson.” His dad took another sip of coffee, and relaxed. “Actually, it’s Cotter Robertson. Cue’s his nickname from his father.”

Stiles nodded. “Uh huh, so, arrested?”

“No. I got him community service work. And I’m helping him to find his family.”

“I thought his dad was killed?”

“Yeah. And his mother was lost to them when Cotter was young. But he apparently has some estranged family on her side. I’ve got one of the deputes looking into it for me.”

“That’s really nice of you, Dad. Real nice. You’re a good man. It needs saying. People don’t tell each other nice things as much as they should, you know?”

Stiles’ dad gulped down the rest of his coffee and rinsed the mug. He fixed Stiles with a tired look. “I know you’re trying to pump me for information. What do you want?”

Stiles shrugged. “Dad, come on, I was just curious. He was an okay kid. He helped when we needed it.”

His dad nodded. “He did. He’s a boy who misses his dad, and got sucked up into things he doesn’t know how to handle.”

“But he’ll be okay now.” Stiles held out a hand, gesturing. “He has you looking out for him. Take it from someone who’s had that privilege for eighteen years; he’ll be fine.”

His dad snorted and shook his head. “I’m going to work. Don’t do anything I have to be called out for, alright?”

“I remember when you used to tell me not to get into trouble.”

“I’ve realized the futility of telling you that.”

“Not only a good man; you’re wise, too. Cue’s in good hands.”

“See you later, Stiles,” his dad said, flatly.

“Bye, pops! Have fun arresting the bad guys.” 

Stiles waited for the front door to close behind his dad before he called Lydia. She’d gone back to college with Malia for the beginning of term.

“Hey, Lyds, what’s up? Listen, I need you to talk to Jordan for me.”

 

***

 

Stiles was waiting outside the Beacon South Store’s side entrance. It was getting on in the evening and he’d managed to wrangle being alone. This time it had required him to lie; telling Derek he was home with his dad and telling his dad Derek was coming over. Sooner or later they’d work out if they wanted him to be baby-sat constantly they’d have to keep tabs on each other too. Until then, Stiles used their naivety against them.

He’d racked up a few lies to accomplish being here, actually. 

Lydia believed he was working on his mental health issues which included thanking the boy who'd helped him at the camp. Stiles asked her for assistance because his dad wouldn't help as he didn't agree with his idea. Lydia had been very understanding and supportive. She'd asked Jordan for the name of the place where Cue was doing community service. Thankfully, Parrish was so in love with Lydia and had done worse things than give out personal case information to the pack, that he hadn’t even asked why she needed it. 

Numerous staff of the South Store had already gone home in the two hours Stiles had been sitting on the hood of his jeep, and when the side door opened again he was happy to see a familiar slouching figure emerge and make his way towards the bus stop. Which was conveniently near where Stiles had parked. 

Stiles slid off his jeep as Cue got close enough. He could grab him if he needed to.

Cue looked up at the movement, got a look at Stiles, and turned to run in the opposite direction. 

Stiles had to grab him.

Cue wasn’t as formidable without his gun. He whimpered as he was shoved into the back of the jeep. Stiles hopped in the front and locked both doors, then put his arm across the back of his seat.

“Hi there, Cue.”

Cue turned a bit pale. Stiles smiled. It was probably not a very nice smile. As Cue swallowed and leant away from him, Stiles was betting it wasn’t. 

“Fancy seeing you here." Stiles tapped his fingers on his seat, and tilted his head. "How's things?”

Cue eyed him, warily. “Your dad got me a job.”

“I heard it was more community service; but po-tay-to, po-tah-to.” Stiles smiled again.

Cue looked out the window at the darkened deserted carpark and watched as his bus drove past his stop.

“Hmmm,” Stiles mused, “last bus of the evening. Looks like you’re stuck for a ride. Need a lift?”

Cue deflated slightly, but held his chin at a defiant angle. Stiles was willing to bet if he could hear his heartbeat it would be running a lot faster than he was letting on. Stiles was intimate with that game.

“What do you want?” Cue finally asked.

“Lots of things; an end to world hunger being one of the biggest, but let’s focus on how we can help you.” 

“I don’t need help.”

“Yeah, Cue, you do. You’re in a spot of bother.”

“Are you going to kill me? Your dad said you didn’t eat faces! And I haven’t told anyone about you!”

“I appreciate that, I do. And I’m not going to eat your face. That’s disgusting.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Uh uhh, remember; this is about helping you.”

Cue rolled his eyes. “How are you going to help me?”

“I’m going to save your life.”

Cue blinked. “Save my —”

“Life. The thing that is the most important to us all, really. Allows you to go about the world in a not-dead state. And take it from me: being dead? Not so great.”

“You, you’re dead?” Cue edged back into the side of the jeep furthest away from Stiles.

Stiles shrugged. “Not anymore. But hey, if you’re wanting to die, let me know now and I’ll let you go.”

Cue was silent for a while. Stiles could practically watch the cogs turning in his head. His eyes kept shooting around outside; looking for anyone to help him probably. 

Stiles smiled again. 

There was no one out and about at this time. This was the side of town where everyone went home to their loved ones, TVs, and beds at a respectable hour. That piece of knowledge had been gleaned from many nights of being out and about with the pack. Cue was on his own.

He came to the same conclusion,, and folded his arms in a petulant manner that reminded Stiles of Liam. He stifled a chuckle at the thought.

“You said you’ll save my life. But apart from you, what’s threatening it?”

“You’d know, if you gave it a bit of thought.” 

Cue frowned but didn’t answer.

Stiles sighed. “Know any psychos we’ve both had the chance to spend quality time with?”

Cue’s frown deepened. “Brine? But he wouldn’t.”

“No, of course not!” Stiles agreed. “Brine’s a perfect healthy specimen of mental acuity and an all-round law-abiding citizen. He would never take out the one person who knows him and his plans and who is running around without his supervision. Of course, he may not know that this person has also gotten on the good side of the town’s very own sheriff. But then again, he may.” Stiles paused and scrunched up his nose as if reconsidering. “You’re right. You’re perfectly safe. Off you go, then.” He made to unlock the opposite door from where he sat.

“Wait!” Cue reached out, grabbing Stiles’ arm before snatching his hand back. 

Stiles hid his smirk and glanced back at him. 

“You’ll save me from him?”

“Yep. Will do.”

“What’s your price?”

“Do you still have Brine’s number?”

“Why?”

“Would Brine answer if you called?”

“Maybe. If he knew for sure it was me. He won’t answer first time when he’s not expecting a call.” 

Something in Cue’s voice clued Stiles in, and he tapped his finger on the side of his nose. “But you know a way to contact him so he knows it’s you.”

Cue couldn’t seem to help the little smirk that graced his face. “I do.” He squinted at Stiles. “Why do you need me to call him?”

“So you can tell him to meet you.”

“I don’t want to meet him!” Cue glared, but glanced away when Stiles stared him down. “He’ll ask why.”

“Tell him you still want revenge for your dad.”

Cue flinched. 

Stiles tried not to feel bad. “He doesn’t know you helped us, does he?”

“No. None of them do.”

“Does that include the guy he still has with him?”

“How do you know about him?”

“I know things.” Stiles shrugged. “You didn’t tell the police about him.”

“I’m guessing you haven’t either,” Cue shot back.

“Hmm, I have my reasons.” Stiles had forgotten until just now, that was his reason. His dad was going to kill him. “The point here is that you didn’t. You know just how dangerous Brine is to you.”

Cue looked down and squirmed slightly. “He’s a complete fucking loon of a nutcase. I know it. You’ve just told me stuff I was trying not to think about.”

“I’m helpful that way,” Stiles agreed.

“So I call him, arrange a meet, and what? You take him out? I won’t help with that.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. Arrange a meeting, that’s it. I won’t ask for anything else.”

Cue made a dismissive noise. “And then I’m guessing, going with what happened last time, Brine and his goon kidnap you again.”

Stiles smiled his not-so-nice smile. “That would be the plan, yes.”

 

***

 

It had taken another few days for Cue to arrange a meeting with Brine. Stiles spent them worrying about Cue chickening out, or his dad learning he’d been texting Cue to make arrangements. 

Turned out Cue had a nasty tongue when he texted, too. In another situation, Stiles could find himself liking the foul-mouthed kid. He was so young, but in some ways older than he should be. He reminded Stiles a little of himself back before Scott got bitten, only Cue was more likely to shoot someone.

Thankfully, Stiles’ worry should be over soon. And no one would be the wiser. He was quite aware that his dad, Derek, and Scott would have very strong and negative reactions if they found out what he was doing. 

He was sitting up in his sycamore tree, doing pretty much nothing but enjoying the warm weather and nature in general, when Cue texted to let him know the meeting was in fifteen minutes.

That was perfect. Derek was busy doing something; Stiles had no idea what because he hadn’t said, and his dad was at work. Scott was off doing vet things, getting more practice in before his college classes started. Stiles was home-free.

He and Cue were going to meet Brine in the carpark of Cue’s community service store. It made sense Cue would want to meet there as it was convenient and public. It hadn’t bothered Stiles where they met. It was more important Brine showed up. 

Hidden from sight by illusions, Stiles shuffled along the branch he was sitting on. It was at the top of the tree, which put him above the roof of his house by over double its height. When he got to a good point he leant backwards, flipped off the branch, and landed on his feet on the grass in his back yard.

Stiles looked up at his tree and grinned. That would never stop being the coolest thing ever.

 

***

 

Cue was waiting in the carpark when Stiles drove up and parked. He looked angry; scowling and hunched over. Stiles didn’t care. 

“Nice day for a secret meeting,” he greeted, as he hopped out of his jeep.

Cue gave Stiles a scornful glance. “You’re certifiable. A crazy, scary, monster. I’ll be glad when this is over.”

“Aw, don’t say that, Cue. I’ve been enjoying our clandestine friendship.”

Cue moved a finger back and forth between them. “We? Are not friends. Your dad would kill me if he knew I’d agreed to do this.”

Stiles was well aware of the hero-worship Cue had going on with his dad. He’d used it to threaten him when he’d tried to back out of contacting Brine. 

“Probably,” Stiles agreed, flippantly. “Which is why you’re going to keep your mouth shut and not give the game away.”

“Not a game, you mental fucker,” Cue muttered. “Brine’s going to cut you up.”

Stiles pretended not to hear him, just bounced a few times on the balls of his feet. 

This was going to work.

 

***

 

A while later, Stiles was sitting in his jeep, while Cue leant against a car a little distance away. 

When his phone chimed Stiles checked who it was, then turned it off, ignoring the text from Scott asking where he was. He cursed Scott’s ability to choose exactly the wrong time to get their bromance on and want to hang out. 

A car turned into the carpark as he was pocketing his phone. Stiles recognized it as Brine’s from when he’d been shoved into the trunk. The car parked and then one of the largest men Stiles had ever seen got out of the passenger side. His muscles had muscles and his shirt looked like it would rip if he flexed the wrong way. 

“Holy growth supplements!” Stiles' eyebrows rose in disbelief. "All he needs is green skin and he's Bruce Banner!"

Hulk made his very intimidating way over to Cue. When he motioned for Cue to go with him, Cue shot a quick look over in Stiles’ direction. 

“Don’t follow him,” Stiles muttered. “Don’t follow him. Keep your distance.” 

Cue slouched along behind the guy, when he turned around and walked back to Brine’s car. 

Stiles threw up his hands. “Of course! Follow the guy who could squash you with his little toe. Makes perfect logical sense!”

Stiles tumbled out of his jeep in his haste to make sure Cue didn’t get in Brine’s car. He didn’t want him mixed up in the next part of his plan. He jogged over, thankful to see as he got closer that it was indeed Brine sitting in the driver’s seat.

Hulk had arrived at the other side of the car with Cue next to him. Brine’s car was small enough for Stiles’ to see over the roof and he had a quick flash of Hulk folding himself up in it like clowns in a mini.

Brine looked surprised when he spotted Stiles, his eyes darting around the carpark as he tried to work out what was going on. “Stiles,” he said conversationally, rolling the window down. “I take it this little get-together was your idea?”

“We have unfinished business,” Stiles explained.

“That we do, that we do,” Brine nodded. “Grab him,” he ordered, and Hulk clamped a meaty paw onto Cue’s left shoulder.

Stiles bit his lip before masking his worry. Getting Cue hurt wasn’t in his plan. Cue, for his part, stayed still but sent a dark glare over the roof of the car at him.

“Shall we talk?” Brine asked. “I’ve got to say, Stiles, you’ve looking disappointingly alive right at this moment. It’s a real problem with you.”

“What can I say? I’m like a bad case of herpes; I just keep coming back.”

Brine gave him a disgusted look. “I think we need to spend some more quality time together. What say we go for a drive?”

“Let the boy go and I’ll get in the car.”

“I think I’ll bring the boy along. You two have obviously gotten friendly. I’ve found it pays to keep people you care about close to me.”

Stiles glanced at Cue, then back to Brine. “You seriously overestimate my feelings for him. Let him go, I’ll go with you. If you don’t, I leave, and you never get to the Nemeton. I can take you there, that’s what this is about after all.”

Brine’s hands clenched on the steering wheel. “I’ll take the boy anyway and you’ll show me the way to the Nemeton or I’ll kill him.”

Stiles shrugged. He looked over at Cue. “Sorry, dude. Looks like here’s where we part company.” He turned around and started walking away, praying it looked like he didn’t care one way or the other.

“You fucker!” Cue’s curse made it known he thought Stiles was very capable of abandoning him.

“Wait!” Brine called out. 

Stiles turned around, raising an eyebrow. 

Brine scowled. “Let him go,” he instructed.

Hulk shoved Cue, who stumbled and then took off for the other side of the carpark. He turned around and watched them. Stiles had known Cue had stamina from his trek through the preserve, but the boy could also run like a jack rabbit. At least he was safer now than he’d been a few seconds before.

“Your turn.” Brine’s smile had a lot of teeth. 

Hulk made to walk around the back of the car towards Stiles. 

“There’s no need for the man-handling. No offense, but I don’t know where you’ve been.” Stiles put his hand on the back door handle. Before he opened the door, he spared a quick look over at Cue. 

Cue was standing there, mouth hanging open. He frantically shook his head when he saw Stiles looking at him.

Stiles got in the car and shut the door. 

 

***


	26. Fan Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovely fan art for 'Nature and Nurture'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Fae Stiles and Wolf Derek](https://twitter.com/hanabi_angel/status/936937284934488064)

As a late holiday present to all, here is an amazing piece of fan art created by the incredible Hanabi_Angel. Posted with permission.


	27. The Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The little fae that could.

Stiles leant forward to rest his arms on the front seats of Brine's car as they pulled out of the carpark. “Do you want directions now, or shall we go through the whole ‘Oh woe is me, I’ve been kidnapped again’ scenario?”

Hulk turned his head and gave him a look like he thought there was something damaged in his brain. Stiles ignored it. He’d grown up with those looks.

Brine chuckled. “You’re in high spirits. Tell me, is it because you have some grand scheme that will see me fail? Let me disappoint you. You’re at my mercy, just as you’ve always been since I took you the first time.”

Stiles sat back and spread out comfortably across the back seats. “No scheme. I’m just wanting this to be over. I’m tired of you and your psychosis butting in with my social-life.”

“Psychosis? This from someone who willing got into the car with his torturer and almost-killer. I don’t think you’re in the position to call others out on their mental stability.”

Stiles shrugged carelessly. “I never said I was sane. Abduction and torture will do that to a person. So directions?”

“Yes. Please,” Brine purred.

Stiles told them where to park in the preserve and then the drive went relatively smoothly. He rolled down the window and leant his head on the frame, letting the air rush through his hair as the town and then the forest flashed by.

Hulk was still giving him strange looks from the front seat. Stiles winked at him once and almost had a fit of giggles when he got a considered once-over in return.

When they reached the preserve carpark, they all got out. 

Brine went round to the back of the car, exuding supreme confidence, and opened the trunk. He handed Hulk a gun before pulling out a compound crossbow. Stiles was only as familiar with compound crossbows as an internet search could get him. He had no personal experience, but Allison using one once had piqued his interest enough to watch numerous videos late one night. Brine, on the other hand, looked very familiar with it.

“Not a gun?” Stiles couldn’t help but ask.

“I have a history with guns,” Brine smirked.

That wasn't surprising in the slightest. 

“Gun issues, but you don’t worry about having a bow?”

Brine finished checking whatever it was that was checked on a bow before it was used. “I have a hunter’s permit for this beauty. You’ve got to love the loop holes in the system. No ranger can stop us.”

Stiles didn’t think a forest ranger could stop Brine even if they wanted to. “And it’s hunting season?” Call him stupidly curious. 

“It’s always hunting season for fae.” Brine tapped one of the arrows resting in the quiver attached to the bow. “Iron tipped. Specially made by a friend of mine who’s in the know.” 

Stiles stilled, as some of his assuredness left him. 

Did Brine mean there were other fae hunters out there? But why would he have needed Deaton’s help if there were others? Stiles didn’t want to believe there was a group of hunters after his kind; werewolf hunters were problematic enough.

He looked askance at Hulk, mentally tallying Brine’s minions; then closed his eyes for a second, wanting to curse. He’d forgotten about the men who’d knocked out Derek and Scott in the cell. They hadn't been caught, even though the Nemeton-wand they'd used had been found at the camp site. 

That meant at least two other minions were running around, not including Hulk, capable of doing an untold number of things under Brine’s command.

“Weapons grade or recreational bow?” Stiles asked, not that he had any idea what the difference was. He was just hoping to cover his unease. 

“Only the best,” Brine smirked. “I’m a very good shot, too.”

Stiles sighed internally. 

Of course he was.

 

***

 

They’d been walking for a hour or so, heading straight for the Nemeton. They’d been making good time and none of them had filled the silence with small talk, so Stiles was able to think. 

He stopped them just outside of the last group of trees before the grove. 

Brine’s excitement was palpable. “Are we close?”

“Yep. Through there,” Stiles pointed.

Brine held up the compound bow, gesturing with it. “So why don’t I shoot you now?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “If finding the Nemeton was that easy, you’d have already done it.”

“Then why did we stop?”

“Because your pit bull can’t go any further.” Stiles looked over at Hulk, who’d aimed his gun at him as soon as they’d stopped walking.

“He stays with me.”

Stiles’ connection to the Nemeton made him reckless, its energy helping him feel unstoppable. “Listen, I’ve brought you here because I’m completely done with all this. I didn’t choose to become fae, I certainly didn’t choose to be kidnapped or to have my father taken. So I’m giving you what you want. But you can’t have it unless you and I go in there without anyone else.”

“Don’t take me for a fool.”

“Then let’s wander around some more until you change your mind, shall we?” Stiles started walking again. 

Brine gestured to Hulk, who lowered his gun. “What do you mean?”

Stiles turned around and stared at Brine like he was stupid. “I mean that the Nemeton won’t let us get closer while he’s with us.”

Brine narrowed his eyes, and sneered. “I should shoot you now and go in there myself.”

“Go for it. You won’t enter, of course. Ever. But if you’ve changed your mind about having one of the strongest magical entities as your own plaything, I won’t stop you.”

Brine was disbelieving. “You won’t stop me killing you?”

“Do you see me struggling? Did I fight you at the camp?” Stiles put his hands in his pockets, hiding his twitching fingers.

Brine smiled like he’d been given a gift. “Do you have a death wish, Stiles? Did I damage you that badly? I’ll admit; that makes me feel good.”

Stiles sighed. “I’m tired; that’s all I know. Now, are we finishing this or do you want to fuck around some more?”

Brine pulled an arrow from the quiver and waved it. “Get moving.”

They moved through the trees, seemingly loosing sight of Hulk naturally but in fact Stiles had timed their parting to work with his illusions. Hulk wouldn’t get any closer without him, so there was no possibility of a sneak attack. Brine didn’t notice anything untoward. 

When they were further in, Stiles pushed some of his magic at Brine; just enough to give him a taste and get him hooked.

Brine stopped like he’d been zapped, and gasped. “What is that? Is that the tree?”

Stiles didn’t answer, but pointed ahead. “Through here.” He kept walking until they entered the grove’s clearing and the Nemeton stump was visible.

With his bow and the arrow held loosely in one hand, Brine stumbled to the stump and dropped to his knees. “Amazing. So much power to be found in such a thing.” He reached out his free hand and touched the stump. 

Stiles hid his utter discomfort at feeling Brine touch the Nemeton by walking around it. “So, care to tell me what you plan on doing when you have all this?”

Brine looked up at him and stood. He had a glint in his eye that Stiles had noted in many bad guys over the years; the ‘I’m-finally-getting-what-I-want’ glint. “Now isn’t the time to talk of such things,” he said. “How do we start?” He looked the stump over like there’d be a button to push.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “You’re an evil mastermind at his end game! Don’t fail now and not take the time to explain why you’re a miss-understood person with so much to still achieve.”

Brine gave him an unimpressed look. “No.”

“Humor me.” Stiles waggled his eyebrows. Met with Brine’s silence, he continued to walk around the stump. “You mean to tell me you don’t want to gloat at least a little?” He held his finger and thumb apart by the smallest amount.

Brine’s lip pulled up in scorn. “You never stop, do you?”

“Nope. I really don’t.” 

“Fine! My daughter and wife were killed by fae because my wife helped chop down this thing.” Brine waved a dismissive hand towards the Tree.

Stiles clench his jaw but said nothing. 

“I will use the Nemeton’s power to kill the fae who did it. To destroy all fae.”

Stiles hummed, and nodded. “I get it, I do. Revenge: it’s the glue that holds the crazy together.” He started walking back. 

Brine raised the bow with the arrow nocked. He pulled back on the release aid; the bow string taunt. 

Stiles stopped, well aware that only the slightest touch was needed on the trigger and the arrow would shoot. He held up his hands slowly, pleased when they didn’t shake with nerves. “You do realise you can do more than rid yourself of your pesky fae problem, right?”

Brine sneered at him. “Of course! I will then turn it on the other supernatural creatures. I will get rid of them all to make this world safer for humans.”

“Huh. Global genocide, wide scale.” Stiles risked it and gave Brine two thumbs up, coupled with his most condescending smile. “Now that’s dictator thinking. Of course, it won’t happen unless you have the Nemeton’s power.”

“That’s why we’re here, you stupid fae.” Brine’s loathing was almost tangible.

Stiles bit back a nasty retort. “Yes. But you can’t just want it. The Nemeton has to want you, too.” He lowered his hands to his sides. “That’s why killing me isn’t enough.”

Brine took a moment, his eyes flicking between Stiles and the stump. He lowered the bow. “If killing you isn’t the way, what is?”

Stiles looked him over, then shook his head. “You know what? You’re not the one. You don’t have what it takes.” His heart was beating hard against his chest as he turned from Brine and took a step towards the edge of the grove.

An arrow embedded itself in the ground inches from his foot. He stared down at it and swallowed slowly. 

“Don’t.” Brine’s voice was low and threatening. 

Stiles schooled his face and gave what he hoped was a supremely unimpressed look over his shoulder. His blood was rushing into his ears, his pulse thumping away. 

Brine had another arrow nocked and leveled right at him.

Stiles raised an eyebrow, and waited.

Brine’s eyes narrowed at him. “I highly doubt you went to all this trouble to get me here just to walk away. What’s your game?”

Stiles turned back around, and tilted his head. “There’s more to this than just taking,” he said, pityingly. “You haven’t understood and I don’t think you ever will. This was a big waste of time.”

“I’m not leaving here,” Brine announced. “I will kill you, make no mistake.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Stiles agreed. He pointed to the stump as if asking permission and then walked over to it, sitting down and looking up at Brine. “We’re at an impasse. You want the power of the Nemeton which I’d give you if it was only my choice. But it’s not.” He leant back on his hands, giving Brine an excellent target for the arrow still held on him. He pressed his hands into the stump to cover the tremors that had started.

“Who’s choice would it be, if not yours?” 

Stiles snorted, and patted the stump. “Who do you think?”

“The tree?” Brine was skeptical. 

“Didn’t you wonder why it took a whole slew of druids to cut it down?” Stiles eyed Brine’s solid stance; there wasn’t the slightest waver in his arms as he held the bow taunt. It was disappointingly impressive. “The Tree is its own being. You can’t take anything from it that it doesn’t want to give.”

“It’s a tree,” Brine scoffed, “it may hold power, but it doesn’t wield it.” 

“Just because you don’t believe it, doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

Brine released the tension in the bow, lowering it at the same time. “You lie.”

Stiles pointed at him. “That’s why I said you didn’t understand. That’s why you’ll never get what you want.”

Brine narrowed his eyes. “I will.”

“Won’t.”

“I will!” Brine argued, he took a step towards Stiles, his hands clenching around the bow and arrow. “You will tell me how, or I will leave here and find your father and hurt him until he begs for death. That I promise you.”

Stiles sucked in a breath, his anger flaring up at the threat. His glamour almost dropped. Instead, he leant back against the stump again, using his connection with the Nemeton to calm his mind. His heart continued to race though, thumping like it was trying to beat a hole in him.

“You’re still not listening,” he explained slowly. “It’s not about what you do; it’s about who you are. The Nemeton has to think you’re worth giving its power to.”

“If that were the truth, it picked you. And that? I do not believe,” Brine chuckled, darkly.

Stiles tipped his head back and sighed in exasperation. “If I had all that power do you think we’d be having this conversation right now? I can hide the Tree. That’s my job. I don’t use its power.” 

Brine clenched his jaw, obviously unhappy. He stroked the trigger of the bow’s release aid as he considered what he’d been told. 

Stiles refrained from holding his breath and crossing his fingers. There wasn’t much more he could do to convince Brine. He just hoped he’d done enough. 

Brine looked like he wanted to spit in disgust or chew his own arm off, but finally he asked, “How do I get the tree to chose me?” 

Stiles eyed him. “Do you really want it to? To accept you?”

“Yes, I really want it to,” Brine snarled. 

Stiles shrugged and looked around the grove; the perfect picture of the unconcerned fae. “It’s simple: prove you want it.”

“Of course I want it! I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t want it!” 

“How badly do you want it, though?”

“Enough to kill you and everyone you love!” Brine threatened, bringing up the bow again.

“Woah! Easy.” Stiles stood, his hands out low to his sides. His chest was hurting. His hands were tingling and he wanted to shake them out. He desperately hoped Brine didn’t notice any of it. “Shoot me and this all goes away. It’s not enough to threaten me, like I’ve said before. You need to make the Nemeton believe you’re the one who should have this power. You have to want to be part of it.”

Brine shouted, “I want it! I deserve it!”

“Deserve what?” Stiles’ mouth was dry.

“How can I say it any clearer?!” Brine had spit coming from his mouth as he yelled, “The Nemeton’s power should be mine! I’m the one who needs it, who wants it; I’m the one who this stupid stump should choose to be connected with!” His aim with the bow stayed true on Stiles, even as he flushed with anger.

“You want to be part of it?” Stiles pushed further.

“Yes, you imbecilic fae! I want to be part of the Nemeton!!”

Stiles moved too fast for Brine to shoot the arrow. He dropped his glamour at the same time he sunlight-leapt into Brine’s personal space, arriving at his side. Touching the release trigger on the aid, he shot the arrow into the grove. Before Brine could react, Stiles wrenched the bow from his hands and threw it across the grove as well. His magic made it go a lot further than a human’s throw would.

Brine’s eyes were wide as he took in Stiles’ fae face. “You …”

Stiles struck out, grabbing Brine’s pinkie finger in his own. He pulled their joined hands up between them, and hissed, “As you say it, so shall it be done!” 

The binding pact snapped into effect and both of them shook at the force that swept over them.

Stiles dropped Brine’s finger, not wanting to touch him for longer than necessary. He ruthlessly ignored the magical tag that grew in his mind to connect them together. It wouldn’t last long.

Brine fell over, landing heavily as the Nemeton’s power started to rush into him. He knelt, gasping and heaving, and laughing. He shot Stiles a triumphant grin. “It’s amazing!” He struggled to his feet. “The power is so much more than I thought it would be! I can do anything and everything now!”

“Yeah, not so much,” Stiles said, absently. He was concentrating on the magic; checking its flow, its intent.

Brine frowned as the magic pulsed through him, invading his cells and moulding to his very soul with each passing second. “What?”

“Eh,” Stiles shrugged, relieved to see the magic doing as expected. He raised his eyes to Brine’s, and smirked. “You’re a part of the Nemeton now, just like you wanted. Just like you asked to be.”

“Yes! Just as I wanted!”

“Yeah,” Stiles scratched at his jaw, “I may have misled you about the part where I said you could take it from me. Not possible. But, like you’ve said more than once, fae lie.”

“What do you mean?” Brine scoffed at him. He held up a glowing hand. “I can feel it, it is in me!”

“No. It’s more like you are in it. Not the same thing. As you’re going to find out.”

“But,” Brine struggled to comprehend, “you gave it to me, you said I got what I wanted!”

“And you did. You asked to be part of it, said you deserved it.” Stiles stepped closer, his eyes still shining. The world was crisp and clear; he could see the magic coiling in his enemy, readying itself. “And you do deserve it, Brine.” He tilted his head, his mouth curling up at the end. “I agreed to your promise. We made a binding pact.”

Brine blanched; the first sliver of doubt creeping into his expression. “I didn’t promise anything, there was no binding pact.” He suddenly lunged for Stiles, but was brought up short by the magic moving through him. He frowned, struggling to move his feet.

Stiles felt a vicious kind of glee wake inside him. His smile turned cruel. “You did promise though; to kill me and everyone I love unless you gained the Nemeton’s powers.”

“You tricked me!” Brine kept trying to break free, his body contorting in weird angles as he shoved at the magic holding him.

Stiles’ glee turned cold and unforgiving. “I only did what you asked. It’s not the ending you were hoping for, but don’t feel too bad. You’re not the first to fall to fae trickery. We do it too well.”

Brine’s eyes widened in disbelief and his struggles grew more hectic. He pulled at his clothes and started to scream in fury. He ripped at his face, creating deep score lines that would have bled red if not for the light starting to shine through his skin as if a miniature sun had taken up residence inside. His screams turned to those of despair and fear.

“Perfect,” Stiles whispered. He started laughing then; harsh, hacking barks that hurt his throat and had him choking. He leaned over, placing his hands on his knees, his laughter wheezing out of him.

Brine's screams cut off, his mouth hanging slackly open. His eyes rolled up in their sockets, showing a ghastly glowing white, before his head fell forward onto his chest. The magic kept him standing, arms hanging limp by his sides. Then he collapsed; his limbs folding under him and his head hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

Stiles stared; fascinated that Brine had been reduced to a twisted, crumpled form with a cracked open head. There was the end to his nightmares; lying undone in a glow of magic only a short distance from where he was. 

“You won’t hurt me ever again,” he told Brine’s body. “You may have broken me, but you didn’t win.” 

He looked away, his attention caught by the grove which was filling up with energy and light. 

Stiles wasn’t alone in enacting the change in Brine. The Nemeton was using its magic too. It was both of them as one; fae protector and Nemeton. 

Lines of power were coming from the grove trees, flowing along the earth and sinking into Brine, before flowing out again and into the stump. There were tiny balls of light breaking off from the energy lines like sparkling little fireflies. They slowly floated up level with Stiles’ face, bathing the entire grove in their gentle glow. It was a beautiful and entrancing sight. 

Stiles turned in a slow circle, taking it all in.

As the energy kept flowing, the sparks continuing to break away and add to the glow; the taint on the Nemeton’s magic started to ebb. Brine’s life force, given freely as a clean sacrifice, was the start of the Tree’s healing.

Stiles had done it. He’d worked out what to do.

His sudden happiness was such that he yelled in delight, and twirled around with his arms up in the air; the energy wisps tickling his skin as he brushed by them. He jumped and spun around the Nemeton, letting himself flow into the embrace of its magic until the energy lines started to dim. 

Then he stopped, dropping his arms, and looked over at where Brine had been. The magic had eaten away at his body as well as his spirit; taking everything into the Tree. There was only a glowing outline left and, as Stiles watched, it vanished into the energy lines and was sucked into the stump. 

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go. 
> 
> Just one more. 
> 
> One.


	28. The Exhale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ending of this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. 
> 
> Okay, huge apologies for taking such an excruciatingly long time to post the final chapter. I only have one excuse. My computer died and I lost the ending. That teaches me not to save the Very. Last. Piece. of writing somewhere else! 
> 
> I could have cried. Tears possibly did fall. I don't know what was more annoying. Loosing my computer, or the story. I think it was the story, honestly. But I should have updated you all on that, so again, I'm sorry.
> 
> But, now I'm back in business: new computer, new(ish) ending in which everything is relatively the same. In fact, I'd say even better.
> 
> I hope you all find it worth your wait. 
> 
>  
> 
> Further notes at end of chapter.

Stiles found Brine’s bow and the iron-tipped arrows lying on the ground near the edge of the grove. He hunted for the two arrows that had been fired and pulled them from the earth and twirled one around in his hand. 

What was he going to do with them? It wasn’t like he could take them home, and he couldn’t leave them lying around the grove. At some point someone, possibly Derek, would find them and then there’d be questions. 

Stiles’ eyes fell on the root cellar. That could work. 

He opened the door and walked down the steps. He stopped and stared at the Nemeton roots which were glowing softly with a slow rhythmic pulsing. Touching one, he smiled. The Tree was hard at work spreading its new energy along its root system, pushing deep into the earth. Who would have guessed a person made such a good long-lasting battery? Certainly not Brine. 

Stiles chuckled and patted the root before crossing to the opposite side of the cellar, placing the bow and arrows on the hard-packed earth. Breathing in deeply, he smelt the moist soil that surrounded him and the clean air wafting down the stairs from above. The Nemeton’s magic was buffeting against him like an eager puppy. He tipped his head, eyes closed, and used his magic to stroke along it like a metaphorical hug; one made of energy and intent. The Nemeton seemed to sigh in contentment inside his entire being, and Stiles sighed out loud in total agreement.

He walked up the cellar stairs and closed the door, making sure the illusions were strong and holding fast. 

As he walked past the stump to exit the grove, his foot crunched on something hard. He looked down and saw a phone. It had to be Brine’s. Stiles bent down and picked it up, curious as to what sorts of information it may hold. He pressed the power button and unsurprisingly found a numerical code was required to go any further. It was a puzzle for another time, so Stiles slipped the phone into his back pocket. Then he left the grove, looking to find the one loose end that was still in the preserve.

It took him a bit of time, but he finally had to come to the conclusion that Brine’s manservant, Hulk, had scampered. He couldn’t find him anywhere; not loitering around the grove like Stiles assumed he would be, nor wandering further into the preserve. Looking through the forest with magic hadn’t helped either. The trees and earth couldn’t feel him, and searching on the air currents only proved the carpark where Brine’s car had been was now empty.

Stiles sat down on the earth where he’d been standing and exhaled angrily, “Fuck!” His curse rang out through the forest, causing the birds to stop stop calling until they were certain no danger was present. 

Stiles scooped up some dirt in one hand and squeezed it hard between his fingers. There was no other option but to stop looking for Hulk. The realization caused bile to rise in his mouth. Loose ends never just went away in Stiles’ experience; they always came back to bite him in the ass. The fact that this loose end was a walking weaponized mammoth didn’t help anything, either. Stiles didn’t even know Hulk’s real name, so couldn’t get Parrish to do a search for him on the police records.

“Fucking shit!” Stiles threw the dirt clump as far as he could, and then fell back onto the ground. 

He looked up at the sky through the forest canopy and sighed. It was late in the afternoon and he needed to be getting home before someone started to wonder where he was. Remembering he’d turned his phone off he pulled it out of his pocket and held it above him, turning it on where he lay. He checked his messages, but there was still only the one from Scott earlier.

Suddenly his phone rang and he almost dropped it on his face in surprise. He sat up and seeing it was Scott, he answered. “Hey man, sorry I missed your call earlier.” He wondered if he’d already been caught out.

“No worries,” Scott said, sounding calm enough that Stiles blew out a silent breath in relief. “Just wondered what was happening with you, is all. I wanted to catch up today. Where were you?”

Stiles ran a hand over the ground by his side. “Just in the preserve, doing fae stuff.”

Scott laughed a little, the sound doing wonders in calming Stiles’ nerves. “Dude, at some time take me with you and show me what you mean by that, okay? I’m curious.”

Stiles smiled crookedly, one eyebrow raising as he thought about showing Scott what he’d done. Yeah, not any time soon. 

“Sure, Scottie. I’m still here, actually. Should probably be getting home. I think Dad’s got tonight off.” 

Stiles knew his dad didn’t. He’d be going home to an empty house, which is exactly what he wanted.

“Yeah, sure.” Stiles imagined Scott nodding his head, amicably. “We’ll catch up later. See you, Stiles.”

After Scott hung up Stiles stared at his phone in his hand, aware he was incredibly lucky it had been Scott he’d been talking to, and not his dad or Derek. They would have wanted a lot more details as to how he spent his day. While he had no issues with lying about it, avoiding the issue was better.

That brought him back to his latest dilemma. 

Even though he couldn’t do anything about it, he was still curious as to why Hulk had left the preserve. Did he leave believing Brine had lost, or did he leave for other reasons? If so, what were they? Did it have something to do with the fae hunters which may or may not exist, or Brine’s minions, or something else entirely? Was he, even now, working to a plan of Brine’s that had been set in motion in case of his death or disappearance?

Stiles shivered as he pondered that. 

Brine was exactly the kind of crazy who would have a back-up plan. Some way to get back at Stiles if the unthinkable happened and he lost.

“Oh, God. You psycho bastard. You did, didn’t you?” 

Stiles placed his hand over the pocket where Brine’s phone was. Prying out the secrets it hopefully held was even more important now. 

 

***

 

Stiles sunlight-leaped back to his jeep in the store carpark, and then drove home.

“Dad, you here?” he called out, as he opened the front door. Silence met him, which he expected, and he closed his eyes in relief. 

He went into his bedroom and pulled Brine’s phone out of his pocket. He had no idea how to break into it. For now, he turned it over and removed the back casing and then the battery. He didn’t need it ringing if someone called. He hid the phone behind some junk on his shelves, the battery in a dirty sock under his bed, and the memory card in his desk drawer. When he was done hiding the evidence of how he’d spent his day, he sat on his bed and contemplated calling Derek.

He hadn’t talked to him for almost the entire day and it felt strange. He really didn’t know what Derek had been up to, or where he was right then. On reflection, Derek had been acting slightly cagey when he’d told Stiles he would be busy all day. Stiles hadn’t thought anything of it, hadn’t asked any questions, too wrapped up in his own plotting to be anything other than pleased Derek had something to occupy himself with while Stiles took care of Brine.

Now his own secret was taken care of, Stiles was getting increasingly curious as to Derek’s. But he didn’t call him. While he was hoping everything was okay, he also knew what it was like to have people continually keeping tabs on what he was doing and where he was. He didn’t want to start doing that to Derek. They may be pair bonded, but they were their own people first. If Stiles had things he didn’t want anyone to know about, Derek could have his.

Instead of worrying about his wolf, Stiles decided he was in need of a shower. 

Standing under the spray, he could feel the water calming him down, relaxing his tight muscles. It was just what he needed. He was so relaxed that when the heaving and shaking started, it was scary and unexpected. He didn’t know why it was happening. He slid down the shower wall to stop himself from falling over as his legs gave way.

“What… the fuck?” he gasped, wrapping trembling arms around himself. 

What was going on?

The question was answered when the memories started to hit him. Things he’d been trying to repress began pressing in like a bad waking dream; his abduction being one of the biggest baddest memories of all. 

He tried to shove everything back into the deepest part of his mind but was unable to do so. The memories played out one after the other, dragging him down into darkness as he relived them all. All the torture, the pain, his fear, his death; they were all there. Mixed up in one huge rolling mess that caused every part of him to scream with the unjustness of it all. 

His actual cry brought him back, his ears ringing with it as it rebounded in the shower stall. He was crumpled in on himself; as small a shape as he could be, rocking to and fro as he lay on his side in the fetal position. 

The memories didn’t stop. But this time they went further, and he relived Brine’s defeat of only hours ago; the twisted form lying on the ground as it was sublimated into energy to heal the Tree.

Stiles cried then; hot healing tears which went on and on until he was left achingly empty. As his mind cleared, scrubbed raw, he entered an eerily calm state.

When he’d finally stood up from the shower floor and turned the water off, it was well into nighttime. 

As Stiles went around the house, turning on lights and closing curtains, he promised himself the tears he’d just shed were the last ones he would ever cry over what Brine had done to him.

 

***

 

The next day, Stiles woke up in his sycamore tree, not really remembering going outside to sleep. The calm he’d been wrapped in after his shower breakdown was gone, replaced with an oddly strange euphoria that left him twitchier then normal and highly agitated. 

The Nemeton had been pushing at his mind all morning, stronger and more insistent than it had been before. It caused some rather awkward moments with his dad who’d caught him staring off into the distance, tapping his fingers and his feet, and unresponsive to everything but his dad shaking him. He’d fled to Derek’s to escape his dad’s growing concern, with a side thought to see if Derek would tell him what he’d been doing yesterday.

Derek met him on the house porch with a hug and kiss that made Stiles sigh and lean into him heavily. 

“Are you okay?” Derek asked, looking him over.

Stiles waved his concern away with one hand, dragging Derek into the house with the other. “I’m good. Just missed you yesterday.” He pushed Derek down onto the couch and straddled him, leaning in for a hopefully long make-out session.

Unfortunately, Derek pulled out of it and pushed on Stiles’ chest, forcing him back. “Stiles? What is it?” Derek’s deep frown was back; the one that meant Stiles wasn’t going to be able to sideline him with lies or sex.

Stiles cursed internally but gave it one more go, trailing his hands down to Derek’s jeans and unzipping them. “Maybe I should ask you that, Der? What were you doing yesterday?” He cupped him, thrilling at how warm and wanting Derek was already underneath him. He shifted his hips in response and grinned.

Derek’s pupils were widening and he breathed in deeply through his nose as Stiles squeezed him, but then his eyes were narrowing and he stilled Stiles’ hand by grabbing his wrist. “Enough, Stiles. It was nothing, I was dealing with some werewolf crap, but it’s done. Nothing for you to concern yourself with. I’m more concerned with what’s going on with you.” He pressed his other hand, the one not holding Stiles’ wrist, against his elbow. “Tell me.”

Stiles glared. He’d come to Derek’s to get away from prying questions. He should have known better. “That’s rich, wanting to know everything about what’s going on with me, but offering up nothing of yourself in return!”

Derek blinked. “Nothing of myself?” He seemed on the verge of yelling and something in Stiles was pleased by the idea of having a full blown argument right then. But Derek stopped and eyed Stiles closely. He closed his mouth, his lips thinning into one unimpressed line. “Almost, but not quite, Stiles. You’ll have to try harder.”

Stiles snarled, and shoved himself off Derek’s lap. As he stood, the Nemeton pushed hard against his mind and he swayed where he stood. Derek was up off the couch and holding him close before Stiles could right himself. Stiles felt Derek’s concern wash over him through the contact and it made him angry. He wrenched himself out of Derek’s grasp.

“I’m fine!” he insisted, and created even more distance between them by walking around the couch end. If he needed to grab the back of the couch as the Nemeton shoved at his mind again, he ignored it, and shot Derek another glare. “I didn’t come here for you to be concerned. It’s all you ever do, Derek, and I’m sick of it.”

“Why did you come here then?”

Derek’s question was so ridiculous to Stiles that he laughed. “Because I love you, you idiot, and I missed you.” 

All Stiles wanted was for Derek to hold him and make him feel good, help him feel loved and safe and cherished. But all he was getting was concern and attitude. 

“Fuck this, I’m out,” he decided, and turned to go. 

His hands and knees hit the floorboards and he dry-heaved as the Nemeton decided he could no longer ignore it. He was distantly aware of Derek shouting his name and jumping over the couch to land by his side. He was a mass of tiny nerves, all tingling and crying out for something, as the Nemeton’s magic swamped him. 

Stiles yelled out, “Don’t!” as Derek went to touch him, and he scrambled away, managing to get to his feet and stumble down the hallway to the bathroom, where he slammed the door behind him.

He hunched over the sink, clutching the edges in a white knuckled grip as he shuddered. The Nemeton’s magic wasn’t unpleasant, far from it, but he hadn’t thought starting its healing process would have such an effect on him. It electrified every part of him and if he didn’t want Derek to be knocking on the bathroom door in the next few seconds he needed to get it under control.

Stiles edged back from the sink and sat on the floor, leaning up against the wall, twitching as another wave of magic skittered over his senses. He dick was taking an interest in his raised adrenalin levels, and he was on his way to sporting an aggressive hard-on. He could always open the door and invite Derek to help with it, but his brain was jumping around like he’d overdosed on his Adderall and his glamour kept slipping then coming back. Derek had already shown he was more inclined to ask questions first, rather than just fucking him. That’s what he got for pair bonding with a wolf who’s first instinct was protecting those he loved. 

And Derek did love him. So much. 

Stiles placed a hand over his crotch and pushed down, heaving a shaking breath at the pleasant tingles that ran over his skin at the pressure. He wanted Derek to come in here and fuck him. He unzipped his jeans, tugging them off, and his boxers went the same way. His dick freed, he slowly jacked himself, keeping an eye on the door. It wasn’t locked. He didn’t know if he’d done that on purpose or just forgotten when he’d first shut it. He imagined Derek bursting in, fangs out and claws digging into the doorframe as he saw Stiles pleasuring himself.

“Derek,” he panted, closing his eyes. 

The Nemeton’s magic slid over his skin like a caress and he groaned. His mind split, as it did when he air-travelled, and he was simultaneously reaching for orgasm while he travelled the energy lines with the Tree; the magic overloading him to the point of being dangerous.

The bathroom door opened, and Derek stood there. His fangs were out and he looked so much like Stiles had pictured he wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination again. But instead of looking incredibly turned on, Derek was anxious and Stiles could practically feel his concern from where he stood.

Stiles was panting and his hand moved faster, catching on the head of his dick in just the right way as he stared at his wolf. Derek needed to touch him. He needed Derek on him; his skin, his smell, everything.

“Stiles?!” Derek was beside him, touching his forehead, tipping his head back to look into his eyes as Stiles tried to focus on him through fluttering eyelids.

“Touch me,” Stiles whispered, “love me.” He was almost completely gone. More of him flew along the energy lines, weaving with the Nemeton. His hand started to slow, muscle control slipping away though he still desperately needed to come.

“Jesus,” Derek whispered. He scooped Stiles up and stood. 

Stiles’ hand slipped off his dick and his head lolled back over Derek’s arm as he was carried into the bedroom. He could hear Derek talking but the words made no sense. Derek was touching him but not in the right way. 

Crisp softness touched along his back as he was placed on the bed. His shirt had disappeared somewhere; had he been wearing it in the bathroom? It didn’t matter. He stretched out along the sheets and thrust up, wanting friction. Where was Derek?

Warm hands touched his face and concerned green eyes swam into focus. 

“Stiles-Love, what’s happening?”

Stiles groaned again, and started to beg. “Please, please, please…” He rocked his head back and forth and kept thrusting up with his hips. He was so close, but he couldn’t get there.

Derek’s hands left his face and settled on his hips, holding him down. He was talking again, mumbled words, and Stiles didn’t even try to follow them. He needed Derek to move, to use those hands on him.

Stiles’ magic wasn’t in his control and he pulled on Derek’s feelings, getting a rush of love-concern and spiking fear. It made him groan again. The mix was dark and heady, sticky like toffee and rich in the sweet undertones of Derek’s quickly growing but tightly controlled panic.

“Derek, touch me,” he panted, “need it.” His hands flopped uselessly near his sides. 

Derek’s concern washed over him and Stiles could taste it on the back of his tongue. He wanted to drink Derek down. Gobble him up. Such delicious fear. The dark part inside him was prickling with the thrill of it, the Nemeton’s magic and his own helping it to creep forward, closer to the surface. 

Stiles recalled Brine’s body and the fact he’d managed to take down Brine on his own. 

He cried out and arched up under Derek’s hands. He opened his eyes and saw Derek flinch, pulling back from whatever he saw in Stiles’ eyes. 

Stiles was too far gone to care. He was dancing with the Nemeton; weaving magic through the earth. He was nothing but pulsing need and desire on the edge of tipping. He was fox; pulling on Derek’s emotions and feeding off them, growing full and satisfied. He was the dark thrill of destroying that which he feared. He was sated on energy; too much and not enough. 

He cried out once more and came, trembling and spasming, shaking apart under the force of his orgasm. He groaned, this time in pain as all of the energy building up inside him rushed towards the Nemeton, along the connection they had; pouring into the roots, the stump and the surrounding grove. He couldn’t stop the flow and he didn’t want to. 

This was right, this was as it should be. This was sacrifice. This was his job. 

Heal the Tree: bring back balance.

 

***

 

Derek’s body was pressed along Stiles, cocooning him in love-love-love. Stiles turned in his embrace and rubbed his nose along collarbone and into neck and jaw. He lay there, breathing in wolf and earth and the unmistakable scent Stiles had come to associate as Derek belonging to him. He couldn’t describe it better than that, but it always made him feel at ease.

Derek was awake. His hands were stoking along Stiles skin, across his shoulders and back, down his ass and over his thighs. Stiles blinked awake a little bit more. They were both naked. He stiffened in Derek’s arms, waking up completely, and instantly very nervous.

“Shhh,” Derek crooned in his ear. “It’s okay. Shhh…”

Stiles frowned. How could any of what just happened by okay? He tipped his head back on the pillow. Derek looked back, seemingly entirely too calm. Stiles tried to shuffle backwards. Derek tightened his arms and wouldn’t let him go. 

“Stiles, stop.” 

Derek’s tone wasn’t giving anything away, and Stiles’ heart jumped. 

Derek’s eyes softened and he shocked Stiles by leaning towards him and kissing his mouth gently. Stiles stilled, stiff in Derek’s embrace. But as Derek’s tongue softly traced the seam of his tightly closed lips, he slowly relaxed and started to kiss back. His eyes were open, watching Derek as he opened his mouth to Derek’s persistent tongue. The kiss deepened. 

Stiles’ eyes slid shut, and Derek pulled him back against his side with a deep growling rumble of approval that travelled across every part of Stiles that Derek was touching. Stiles slid his hand up into Derek’s hair. Derek rolled them so he was on top and Stiles melted, always loving the feel of his wolf above him.

Derek was hard against him, already wet and throbbing into his hip. Stiles’ own dick was rapidly catching up, helped along by Derek’s hand sliding down his stomach and wrapping around him. His fingers played over the head and thumbed the slit slowly, making Stiles break out of their kiss to gasp and hum in deepening pleasure.

Derek’s other hand was between his ass cheeks, somehow slick with lube, and Stiles tilted his hips, encouraging fingers to slip inside. Derek groaned out against his neck and bit down gently as he pushed his fingers in as deep as they could go and curled them up, pressing and rubbing.

“Yes,” Stiles murmured. “Yes, yes.” He tipped his neck back, offering himself to Derek.

Derek leaned over him, looking at him while his fingers continued sending warmth to swamp Stiles’ insides with every press and stretch.

“Stiles-Love. Love you,” Derek said, reverently. He pushed a pillow under Stiles’ hips and reached for the condom lying conveniently on the side table. 

Stiles caught his wrist, and whispered, “Just you. Want to feel you. All of you.”

Derek’s eyes flashed and the fingers inside Stiles opened up, stretching him wide. “I’m going to get my tongue in you, later,” he promised. “Make you come just from me eating you out.”

Stiles nodded in agreement, and placed his legs over Derek’s shoulders. “Want that, Der. Want that.”

“Love you,” Derek said again, as he removed his fingers. He stared at Stiles as he reached down and guided his dick, sliding in until his balls rested against Stiles’ ass.

Stiles’ body let him in like they’d been fucking for years; there was no discomfort, no burn, just a sweet heavy push as he opened up and welcomed Derek into the deepest places inside him. Stiles breathed in and then let go, his glamour dropping and his magic wrapping around Derek instinctively.

Derek rocked into him, pushing down and rotating his hips instead of pulling back out again. Stiles appreciated the motion immediately; Derek’s dick rubbing against his prostate with each circular roll.

“Fuck, Der,” he swallowed, catching his bottom lip on sharp teeth. 

Derek was eyeing his mouth and he lay down on Stiles’ chest, making him glad he was flexible as his knees touched his ears. Their faces were inches apart; Derek’s eyes flicking up to his then down again to his mouth. He kept rolling his hips slowly, Stiles pliant underneath him as Derek mapped out every inch inside of him with his dick. Derek kissed his nose then carefully kissed his lips. Stiles opened his mouth and keened in his throat when Derek ran his tongue along the inside of his lips, then over the points of his teeth. He reached up to hold Derek’s face and his fingers caught on sideburns. Derek was changing to his beta form. Stiles’ eyes slid shut again and he made pleading noises into their kisses as Derek’s fangs grew in and clicked against his own.

They’d never kissed like this; fangs and all, and it was so intense. Wolf and fae pressing against each other, in each other, loving each other.

Stiles pulled back from the kiss and stared at Derek who’s blue glowing eyes bored even deeper inside him than each roll of his dick. “Claim me, my wolf,” he ordered. 

Derek’s hips stopped. “Stiles?” His confusion was overlaid by the intense rush of want Stiles felt from him.

“You want to, you’ve wanted to for ages,” Stiles explained, rocking his hips as much as he was able under Derek’s weight, coaxing him back into moving.

Derek complied, starting to move in counterpoint to Stiles, pulling out a little and then pushing back in. He held himself up on his elbows, allowing Stiles’ dick to rub against his stomach. Stiles sighed and clenched down inside, holding Derek on his next slide out. Derek groaned and dropped his head onto Stiles’ chest.

“Tell me you don’t want to,” Stiles whispered. “Tell me you don’t want that.”

Derek shuddered above him. “God, yes. I want that, Love, want it so much.” He raised his face, eyes intent on Stiles. “I want to mark you, be inside you do deeply that I’ll never get out. I want you in me like that. Us bound together in every way.”

“I want that, too,” Stiles admitted. “I need it.” He didn’t understand the full implications, but he wanted it so badly. It felt right. 

The Nemeton pulsed in his mind softly, as if in agreement.

“Do it, Der. Claim me.”

Derek’s thrusting got wilder. 

Stiles watched with wide appreciative eyes as Derek changed even further, growing more fur everywhere, his face becoming more prominently wolf than his beta form allowed. He wasn’t entirely shifted but so close, his muscle and form more fluidly wolf than man, and Stiles loved it. He let go of his last waving doubts about being with Derek like this, and admitted this felt right, too.

Every way they were together felt right to him. 

“So beautiful, my wolf, so lovely. Love you, love you, Der,” he encouraged, clenching down on Derek’s dick and running his hands over the new fur covering arms and back. His dick was catching on the fur on Derek’s stomach, leaving stripes of pre-come that tacked up the fur into clumps and smeared along his dick. 

He shivered as he came. 

Derek arched his back and then struck down, burying his fangs into the meat of Stiles’ shoulder, using the physical connection to cement his claim. 

Stiles’ magic and the Nemeton’s encouraged Derek to go deeper, bite harder, come inside Stiles and mark him inside and out.

They were pair bonded and claimed now. Stiles and Derek, Derek and Stiles. Wolf and fae together.

This was right. This was how it was supposed to be. 

The Nemeton’s presence which had been so brutal since Stiles had woken up that morning, faded back to its normal connection in his mind, leaving him smiling and sated as he hugged his wolf close.

 

***

 

Stiles could feel Derek inside his mind. They couldn’t read each other’s thoughts, but there was now a place in him that was always wolf. Always his Derek. The connection was strong, solid and awesome in ways Stiles had no idea even existed before. This was nothing like the fae pact-binding connections. This was inspiring and welcome and he was entirely too happy with himself for finally asking Derek to claim him. He should have done it sooner. He would have, if he’d had any inkling as to how it would be.

They were both lying on Derek’s bed still; entirely too sticky, but also incredibly comfortable being in each others arm as they both relaxed into their new bond. 

“It’s like it was always there, waiting,” Derek mused, stroking his hands along Stiles’ arms.

“Hmm?” Stiles was still too wrapped up in the connection to speak full words.

Derek chuckled and placed a kiss on his forehead, getting a loving smile in return. “The place where you’re in me.” Derek touched his head and then his heart. “I didn’t know I was empty, but I must have been.” He kissed Stiles’ head again. “And now I’m not.”

Stiles had to laugh, summoning up enough to mental acuity to contribute to the conversation. “I’m feeling that, too.” He snuggled closer into Derek’s embrace. “We should have done this ages ago.”

Derek snorted. “We weren’t ready.”

“Maybe, but maybe it would have helped us.”

It was Derek’s turn to hum, not entirely agreeing, but not dismissing the possibility either. “Or, it could have backfired and sent you running,” he pointed out.

Stiles sighed. Derek had a point. “But I’m not running now.” He sat up suddenly. “Holy cow, are we married?” He stared down at Derek who started laughing loud and long. “Derek, I’m serious.” He poked Derek in the side. 

Derek snorted and wiped at his eyes which had teared up. He pulled Stiles, who had started grumbling, back down to lie along his side. “Only you would ask to be claimed and then worry about exactly what that means after the fact. Luckily, I know.” He stated the last bit with an air of teasing superiority that had Stiles rolling his eyes.

“Oh, my God. Just tell me, already!”

“Simply, it’s a physical extension of pair bonding.” He stroked a finger along the fang marks in Stiles’ shoulder. They throbbed with a dull ache which was already fading, thanks to fae healing. “You’ll carry a scar, I doubt even fae can heal completely from that kind of bite. Werewolves can’t. The scar is seen as visual proof of the pair bond existing. It was used years ago when wolves stole other wolves from packs during raids. You couldn’t steal someone who was claimed. Splitting a claimed pair was considered an act of war in some packs. Still is, I suppose, though the raids don’t happen as much, nor the stealing of others.”

Stiles had no idea he’d been about to receive a history lesson, and as interesting as he was finding all of this, he really just wanted Derek to answer his question. “Okay, but are we married?”

“Not as the human law sees it, so don’t worry, your dad won’t try to shoot me.”

“I don’t think he’d do that, he likes you. I think he’d just be disappointed,” Stiles mused.

“In me being the one you’re with?”

“I know you don’t think that even for a second. You know he appreciates you for who you are.” Derek smiled in agreement, and Stiles rolled his eyes again. “I think he would just have a hard time thinking of me as married. I’m only eighteen.”

Derek stayed silent.

Stiles sat back up and leant over him. “You said, ‘not as the human law sees it.’ What about wolf law? Supernatural law?”

Derek eyed him. “Surely this isn’t an issue, Stiles?”

“You’re not answering me.”

“I thought you were kidding when you asked. Making a joke.” Derek pulled himself up to sit opposite Stiles. “What do you think pair bonding is?”

Stiles thumbed at his bottom lip. “Scott said it’s kind of like an agreement between the two of us that we’re compatible.”

Derek’s eyebrows raised up. “Is that all he said?”

Stiles shrugged. “There is love on both sides. I didn’t give it much more thought than that.”

“Stiles, you …” Derek ran a hand over his face. Then he reached out and took Stiles’ hand, pulling it into his lap and making Stiles move closer until they were sitting in each other’s space. He kissed Stiles’ jaw and breathed him in before saying, “Pair bonding between supernaturals, or a supernatural and a human, is like marriage but not exactly.” He stared into Stiles’ eyes. “Yeah, we didn’t say any words before it happened, didn’t even really discuss it, but that’s because it wasn’t needed for it to happen. In our hearts we both agreed we belonged together. There isn’t any magic that can prove the bond exists, there isn’t any way to tell it’s there, that’s why the claim bite is used.”

“No,” Stiles disagreed.

“No?” Derek’s eyes showed hurt. “You don’t want to be pair bonded? But —”

“Idiot,” Stiles sighed out and kissed him. “I meant, you’re wrong. The fae was the one who first told me I was pair bonded with you. So it could see it, obviously, somehow. Also, you said the claiming was a physical thing, that it helped to prove the pair bond, but it’s more than that because you’re a part of me now, and me you. Explain that.”

Derek stared at him. “When you asked if we were married, you weren’t worried I’d say yes, were you?”

“Only that my dad would have issues with my age.” Stiles frowned. “Why would I be worried we were possibly married?” 

“Jesus, Stiles!” Derek flopped back onto the bed, one arm over his eyes. Hiding, he admitted, “I thought you were worried you’d somehow walked right into a marriage you didn’t want. I was trying to work out how to get you to see you wanted it, because it couldn’t have happened without you agreeing in the first place.”

Stiles was silent for a little while, before he snorted, trying to hold in his laughter. He couldn’t. It escaped in stifled giggles and more snorting of disbelief. 

Derek removed his arm from across his face, watching him. 

Stiles shook his head, and as the last of the laughter left him he leant over Derek, brushing their noses together and bumping his mouth over Derek’s cheek, breathing him in in long sighs that were tinged with his lingering amusement. He caught Derek’s eyes and smiled. “It seems we are both very good at assuming things that are not true.” He gave Derek a lingering kiss. “For the record, and so the words are actually said, Derek, I love you. I am completely irreversibly in love with everything that makes up who you are. Derek Hale, I would be honored if you would marry me in the supernatural way, and all that entails, completely rejecting all human connotations of the word.” 

He wasn’t really thinking of how his words would be taken, just stating the truth because he could, and was happy to do so. But he was bowled over by a wave of such intense joy his magic couldn’t help but pick up on it, even though he wasn’t trying to read Derek’s feelings. 

Derek pushed up and rolled them, until Stiles was the one on the bed with Derek on top. Stiles didn’t complain, busy being kissed with fervor. He was overwhelmed by the passion and depth of love he was surrounded by. When Derek pulled back to nibble down his neck, all he could say was, “Woah.”

Derek snorted, and kissed his neck once more before lying comfortably on him, not at all worried Stiles would want him to move, which he didn’t. 

“I think you need to continue, Derek, and use your words,” Stiles joked. “Was that a yes? Will you marry me?”

Derek kissed him on the shoulder, and smiled his soft smile. “Yes, Stiles. I will marry you.” His smile grew bigger. “I will marry you, completely rejecting all human connotations of the word, but meaning with all my heart every supernatural one.” He kissed Stiles sweetly, then lay his head on Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles hugged him close as Derek sucked on his neck softly, the gentle mouthing sending shivers down to his dick. He was thinking it would be nice to take Derek down to the river and continue their love-making. Perhaps he’d be lucky today was the day he could finally spend the entire thing doing just that; making love to his wolf and nothing else. Now he’d been claimed by a very wolfy Derek, he was curious as to just how wolfy Derek would be amiable to getting with him. All worry about such sex had been smashed to bits; human issues and laws be damned. He wasn’t human, neither was Derek, so what should he care? It was very freeing in a way; admitting what he wanted.

“What happened before?” Derek asked, breaking the pre-sex excitement Stiles was building. “When you were in the bathroom?” He looked at Stiles curiously.

Stiles sighed. 

Perhaps this wasn’t the day for marathon sex. 

“Don’t even bother lying, either. I’m not going to get angry, I’m not going to judge, I just want to make sure you’re not in any danger.”

“What did it look like to you?” Stiles hedged.

“You were obviously under the influence of something. That was clear the moment you arrived.”

“It was?” Stiles thought he’d been hiding it better than that.

“Yes,” Derek said, flatly. “Stop hiding from me, Stiles. I can’t take it. We’re bonded even more deeply now, surely that shows you what I’ve always said. I’m on your side.”

“No matter what?”

“Yes, Love.” 

Stiles bit his lip. “Does claiming mean I have to share everything with you?” He hurried to explain further, when Derek pulled back. “No! Listen, I didn’t mean I don’t want to, just is it a thing where we have to?”

“No,” Derek admitted. “Claiming isn’t like that. But I can’t support you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

“I do trust you, Der.” Stiles was very sure of that. “I just find it hard to share.”

“You’re a locked vault in an impenetrable fortress.”

“I’m not that bad,” Stiles defended. “I tell you things I don’t tell anyone else. I’ve never been good at it, but I know it’s worse now. I feel like I have to fight against myself to say the simplest things.”

“That’s an excuse.” Derek rolled off him and sat up. 

Stiles sat up, too, grabbing a pillow to hold on to. “I don’t think so,” he argued. “I’m fae, secrecy is part of the package deal.”

“Excuse,” Derek insisted. “I’m a werewolf, but I don’t act as wolf-like as I can be. I control my instincts. So can you. You do it without thinking most of the time. You don’t open up about things because you believe people will hate you if they knew the real you.”

Stiles’ mouth dropped open. His jaw clicked as he tried to find something to say. He ended up closing his mouth and looking away, frowning.

Derek placed a hand on his knee. “I know you, I know you better than you think. It concerns me that you don’t understand it. Why can’t you see it? I love every part of you, just as much as you love me, sometimes I think even more than you do. But perhaps its just easier for me because I accept myself, and I accept you.”

“I accept you, Derek.”

“But you don’t accept yourself.”

Stiles pulled a face, uncomfortable and unable to deny the words.

“I don’t expect you to love yourself overnight. But I do want you to try to remember I haven’t turned away from you. I’m not going to. Talk to me. Something obviously happened, something was happening in my bathroom, and I need to know what.”

Stiles ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the strands. He rubbed his hands on his thighs. 

Derek sighed a little. “Let’s try it another way. Do you want to tell me?” 

Stiles shrugged, shook his head, then nodded. He groaned in frustration and pulled a leg up to rest his chin on his knee.

“Did something happen before you came here?”

Stiles repeated his performance, growing more agitated with himself and the situation.

“Alright,” Derek nodded as if coming to some conclusion. “Take my feelings and then tell me.”

“What?” Stiles frowned at him.

“As you did when you explained how you were capable of it, when we were up in your tree. You had difficulty telling me until you let yourself go. You took my feelings and just let yourself open up. You weren’t thinking it through.”

Stiles rubbed his chin on his knee. “Okay.” 

He reached out slowly with his hand, hovering it above where Derek still held his knee. He lay his hand over Derek’s. Even though it wasn’t necessary, the physical touch helped to ground him.

He was about to take Derek’s emotions when he had an idea. It wasn’t what Derek had asked him to do, but it was intriguing enough that he wanted to try it anyway. Derek had already shown signs of feeling his magic before, so it shouldn’t be too hard.

Feeling nervous enough he may throw up, Stiles let his magic flow out and gently fold around his wolf. He used it to stroke along Derek's skin. It wasn’t something he could do to anyone, he didn’t think so anyway, but the claim and pair bond made it easy with Derek, just like he thought it would. 

Derek sucked in a breath and his fingers flexed on Stiles’ knee. His eyes closed, and his mouth opened. Stiles smiled and his magic moved. Derek moaned and his dick started to fill out. It was Stiles’ turn to moan. He could feel Derek’s arousal, which was heady and growing with each stoke of magic, but beneath that was his complete faith Stiles was a person worth fighting for, and worth loving.

Stiles’ eyes closed against his will, and he was swept along as he drank down Derek’s emotions. He could taste them like before; rich and deep, and addictive. Words poured from his mouth.

“The Nemeton is healing, I worked out how to help it. There was some unanticipated backlash and you witnessed the climax of it, literally.”

Derek hummed softly. “What was the backlash from exactly, what did you do?”

Stiles’ magic stuttered and his breath caught. He opened his eyes, but Derek had felt his nerves and was already sending love-arousal-trust at him. As Stiles watched, Derek wrapped a hand around his dick and started a slow pull that had his hips rocking. 

Stiles’ eyes rolled and he wrapped a hand around his own dick, feeling it grow hard under his fingers. “Derek,” he sighed out.

“The backlash, Stiles, tell me,” Derek urged, his stokes coming faster; his arousal washing over Stiles and threatening to tumble him over.

Stiles was half out of his mind; his own arousal flowing back to Derek. A circle of want and need and love and desire.

“Stiles, the backlash.”

“I,” Stiles was jerking himself viciously, his nails pressing on the underside of his dick. He bit his lip and pressed his nails in harder, because Derek cried out when Stiles shuddered through the pleasure-pain. 

“Stiles!”

He watched as Derek came all over himself, roping come dripping down his stomach and over his hand. Stiles fell backwards as he received Derek’s feeling of release, his own pulling from him almost painfully as he gasped out, “I tricked Brine into becoming part of the Nemeton!”

He lay panting and blinking stupidly, his hand lax around his softening dick. Derek scooted over and lay along his side, his own hand coming to rest near Stiles’, before he twined their fingers together. They squelched as he pressed their palms against each other and Stiles knew they were going to get stuck.

He rolled his head to rest against Derek’s. Maybe it was the day for coming apart from too much sex. God, he hoped so.

“You saw Brine?” Derek asked, softly.

“Uh, yeah?” 

Stiles swallowed around a suddenly dry mouth. Then, because Derek didn’t immediately start to freak, he slowly explained what had happened. Derek listened quietly, not judging, just like he said. Stiles became more confident as he went on. By the end of the story, he knew his eyes were gleaming and had turned hard and satisfied.

“So, Brine’s a permanent battery for the Tree,” he ended. “It will last until his normal life-span runs out.”

Stiles didn’t know what Derek’s reaction would be. He was leaning towards a slow fuming anger for confronting Brine on his own. So he was surprised when Derek snorted into his shoulder like he was trying not to laugh.

“Derek?”

Derek looked up, his eyes glowing blue. “He’s gone for good?”

Stiles nodded, slowly.

“Sucked into the Tree?”

Stiles nodded again and watched, slightly dumfounded as Derek did start laughing then. He raised his eyebrows as Derek kissed him though it. He calmed down quickly and said, seriously, even though his eyes still glittered and his mouth was twitching, “I should be mad, I should be furious with you. But all I can feel is genuine relief and amazement by what you pulled off.” He rubbed his nose along Stiles’, before looking at him again. “You’re incredible.”

“You’re not disgusted I essentially stripped a human being’s life from him? Even though he’s technically not dead?”

Derek’s eyes changed back to green. “Not even the slightest bit. Brine deserved what he got. I just wish I’d been there to help.”

“Holy crap, Derek. I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do,” Derek said, adamently. “We fit, Stiles. I don’t for one second think Brine’s life should have been put before yours. At all. I don’t have any issue with you seeking revenge, or protecting yourself, or even feeling good about what you did.” He looked knowingly at Stiles when he flinched. “You are who you are, and I love you. You’re not a monster, but you were hurt by someone who was. Some people deserve to die. If that belief makes me cruel or inhuman, I don’t care. I am what I am. I protect those I love. You are what you are, and you do the same thing.”

Stiles ran a finger down Derek’s nose. “We fit,” he whispered, saying Derek’s words back to him.

Derek nodded, smiling his soft gentle smile. “We do.”

“I get to keep you?” Stiles asked, almost completely sure of the answer, but needing to hear it anyway.

“Yeah, Stiles. You do. You get to keep me.”

Stiles smiled and it stretched across his face until he was grinning mischievously. “Does this mean we can go down to the river and I can fuck you in the shallows?”

Derek swallowed, his eyes darkening. “Yes,” he growled, a hint of fang creeping into his expression.

Stiles kissed him quickly but with promise, and squirmed away from his reaching hands. He stood up and backed away from the bed, still grinning. “I’m glad, Der, because I want to be in you so badly. Want to make you filthy and then clean you up, and do it again and again.”

He laughed and turned away, sprinting through the house as Derek sprang from the bed and charged after him. He flung open the front door and used all his fae speed to keep out of Derek’s reach, still laughing as he was chased down the side of the house towards the river. He couldn’t wait to get there.

It did indeed seem like today was the day for copious amounts of sex with the wolf he loved.

He yelled his joy to the wind, and Derek howled back.

 

***

 

The End.

 

 

Further Notes: So I have mentioned to some people that there is a sequel coming. There is. 

I know I left a lot of things unanswered in this fic, and I realize some of you may not appreciate that, but I think it's a good place to end as Brine is done and dusted, and that's who the main evil was. It didn't seem to work to keep going with more chapters. It was always my plan to keep going but in another fic, and that's what I'm going to do. 

If you would like to come along on the continuing journey, you are very much welcome. If not, I'm sad to see you go, but hope you liked what you've read so far. 

Thank you for taking this road with me, whatever you choose.

Waide.


End file.
